The Black Castle Dark version
by Ali Ranger51
Summary: Will and Evanlyn are captured after burning the bridge, and in a disasterous escape attempt Will is gravely injured. Evanlyn manages to escape, but she believes Will dead. Morgarath takes Will as a slave to his Black Castle. Torture. Dark thoughts.
1. Chapter 1: Desperate Measures

**Author's Note and Introduction**

Hi, Everyone!

Welcome to my story, _The Black Castle – Dark Version_.

This story is written in two parts, the Dark version (This one) and the Normal version (With the same name but without "– Dark Version" on the end). In the beginning, there will only be some minor differences in events and character reactions between the two versions. They begin to branch off into two distinctively different stories after Will arrives at Morgarath's castle.

The two versions of this story were originally posted as a single story under the name, _The Black Castle_, but it became too difficult to follow the storyline, especially as I plan to have different things happen in each story.

The Normal version is written more in the style of the actual _Ranger's Apprentice_ books and I will try to keep the characters more in line with how they would react in the series. Basically, I will try and keep them in character.

The Dark version is written, well, a lot darker that the Normal one… It involves torture and some dark thoughts and probably a lot of out of character-ness. For obvious reasons it is rated M. In this version, I will take off my restraints and let my evil side run wild. Poor Will. If you think something is too unrealistic, please let me know, either with a PM or a Review and I will either fix the problem, or explain my reasoning.

It is not necessary to read both the Normal and Dark versions of this story, as one may appeal to you more than the other. However, if you do take the time to read both (which I would really appreciate) please keep in mind that different events will happen in slightly different time frames or orders, and that the characters will act differently. I hope to make each story different enough to stop the other from being predictable.

Now for some introduction and background information before you start reading.

_The Black Castle – Dark Version_ takes place half way through _The Burning Bridge_, book 2. Will and Evanlyn have been captured by Erak and the Skandians after burning Morgarath's bridge and Horace still manages to escape with Tug, Kicker, and the pack pony.

This is where the story begins.

I love hearing from readers so reviews are greatly appreciated. I will try to reply to each and every one because I get a warm fuzzy feeling every time I get an email with a review, and they mean so much to me!

I will try to not comment until the end of the chapters as I, personally, find it frustrating to read huge Author's Notes (as mine tend to be) at the start of a story as those precious seconds I spend reading them is time I could be reading the story. I'm sorry if this sounds arrogant or offends anyone but I just can't help it; I get so caught up in stories!

Also, my chapters tend to end with cliff hangers. Sorry, but I personally believe that a good chapter leaves you wanting more and wondering what could happen next, so I apologize in advance for any distress I cause you. This is probably even truer for the Dark version, it being evil and all that… XD

I will update the two versions one each week on a Monday, with alternate weeks having alternate versions updated. (If you can make sense of that) Basically, this week I'm updating the Dark version, next week I will update the Normal one, and the week after that I will update the Dark one again, etc, etc. If I get a lot of progress made in the writing and editing, I will probably update more often. It depends what happens and how busy I am.

Thankyou to my beta Alyss Mainwaring. She's amazing and thank you too to all the people who volunteered to beta as well, I was really surprised how many people said that would be happy to beta.

**DISCLAIMER:** I do not own _Ranger's Apprentice_.

Thank you.

Ali Ranger51

* * *

**Chapter 1**

Slowly, cautiously, Will opened his eyes. If anyone had been looking at him, it was doubtful that they would have seen any movement at all. After Will had reassured himself that none of their Skandian abductors were looking his way, he inched his right hand towards an exhausted Evanlyn, and tapped her gently on the shoulder.

They were lying on the ground in a small clearing surrounded by trees. In any other company or time, the surroundings would have been serene and peaceful. However, the snores from the sleeping sea pirates were rather hard to ignore, and Will found it impossible to appreciate the beauty of the bush with the constant grating sound reminding him of the presence of his companions, or rather, his captors.

Dried blood cracked on the wound on his head as Will slowly rose to his feet. He felt a brief sense of vertigo at the movement and he silently cursed the Skandian that had thrown the rock, before cursing himself for not avoiding the rock in the first place. Will tried not to picture his mentor's face when Halt realized that his apprentice had been brought down by a rock. Will steadily ignored the part of him that defiantly insisted that it had been a _big_ rock as he moved silently into the trees. It was time to put his plan into action. They were going to escape.

The plan was not ideal. If he had more time, Will would have liked to learn more about the Skandians, their style of fighting, the watch schedule and which men were light sleepers. Halt had always taught him to learn as much as he could about a situation before acting. As it was, all Will could do was knock out the sentry, steal his weapon and if things went south, run like hell. Considering that all the Skandians—including the sentry—were the size of large boulders, his plan wasn't very reassuring. Nevertheless, Will was smart enough to realize that sometimes all you could do was cross you fingers and hope for the best.

* * *

Evanlyn, like Will, had only been pretending to sleep. Well, mostly anyway. Evanlyn wasn't sure, but she thought that she might have drifted off slightly for an hour or so earlier.

Shaking her head to clear the last bit of sleep, Evanlyn looked around for Will and saw him already moving towards the guard that was keeping watch. She couldn't help but admire the way that Will was able to glide soundlessly from one scarce patch of cover to another. Perhaps once they were back in Araluen she would ask him to teach her. Evanlyn blushed slightly at the impossibility of the thought.

Moving slowly to keep the Skandians from realizing that she was awake, Evanlyn gathered up the raggedy old blankets that she and Will had been given before wrapping them around the food she had pilfered from dinner and a small wineskin filled with water. The supplies wouldn't last more than a day between the two of them, but Will had said that they were better than nothing. After spending several weeks hiding out in the forest around the Araluen-Celtica border, Evanlyn didn't doubt that.

Gathering up the small bundle, Evanlyn set off quietly into the trees on a path parallel to the one Will was traveling nearly 30 feet to her left.

* * *

Will observed the watchman from the cover of an overgrown oak and wished that he had his saxe knife. The Skandian Jarl, Erak, had taken it, along with his small throwing knife, his bow, and his cloak; he didn't want to risk trying to retrieve his weapons. As beneficial as being armed would be, the risk of being caught before they could even leave the camp was too high. He would just have to take the sentry's large dagger and make do with that, as he doubted that he could even lift one of the massive battleaxes that the Skandians carried, let alone use one.

As Will edged closer to the sentry, he remembered what Gilan had told him about fighting an axe man. It wasn't very reassuring. He distinctly recalled Gilan telling him that he would be better off committing suicide than facing a mad axe man with only the two small knives that rangers carried. In fact, if Will remembered correctly, _"Jump off the cliff. It'll be less messy that way"_ were the precise words that Gilan had used in response to his hypothetical question. Gilan would probably strangle him if he knew Will was planning to take out a massive Skandian without even a small knife to back him up. He didn't even want to think about what Halt would do if he knew. Whatever it would be, it would be painful for both him and Gilan.

_Here goes nothing_, Will thought desperately as he brought the thick branch he had picked up earlier down on top of the Skandian sentry's head.

* * *

Evanlyn looked around, startled, as a huge '_crack_' sounded around the small campground. She froze and peered through the trees at Will in shock. The young apprentice was now holding half of a rather dead looking branch, and looking at it in shock as an angry Skandian with a freshly dented helmet shouted the alarm. All around her Skandians were waking and reaching for their battleaxes. The watchman looked especially pissed. Skandians were rather fond of their helmets after all.

She barely had enough time to hear Will screaming at her to run as his common sense overcame his shock, before the massive Skandian Jarl stood up and began shouting at his men. Evanlyn didn't hesitate. She ran faster than she ever had before, muttering some very unladylike words under her breath as she went. Her father would probably be disappointed to know that some of his men had used such foul language within earshot of his 'little princess', but Evanlyn was rather grateful that she was able to sum up the situation with a few well chosen words.

* * *

Will was stunned. He couldn't believe it. The branch had just split in two when it had collided with the Skandian's head, doing no more damage than a slight dent and a very loud crack. Unfortunately, it was the crack that he had to worry about.

The campground was in uproar as his common sense, honed from his lessons with Halt, kicked in and he shouted at Evanlyn to run before dashing off deeper into the forest himself. He blundered through the trees, making as much noise as possible in an attempt to draw attention away from Evanlyn. With any luck he would be able to loose his pursuers in the dense woodland later, but for now he needed to give Evanlyn time to get away.

* * *

"After them! Don't let them escape!" Jarl Erak was angry. He grabbed his battleaxe as he leapt after the two prisoners. Nordel was going to be on the oars for a year after this. He had obviously fallen asleep on watch again.

Erak may have just woken up, but he reasoned that the prisoners would be tired and disorientated too. They had probably had even less sleep than himself or any of his men so he doubted that they would get very far.

Despite his large size and the massive horned helmet he wore, Erak ran swiftly through the trees, shouting angrily to his men as he followed a well-used game trail. Years of experience during various raids up and down the Araluen coast had taught him to be able to run when he had to.

As he ran deeper into the trees, he heard a solid grunt and as he rounded the next bend in the rugged path, he caught sight of the boy, Will. A pale glint of light reflected in the moonlight showed Erak that Will had somehow managed to take a dagger from one of his men. The apprentice ranger was holding the vicious knife in front of him and for a moment, the battle-hardened Jarl found himself admiring the young boy's courage. Will's eyes flickered at something off to Erak's right and his expression rapidly turned briefly into one of shock and horror, before fixing on Erak again, grim determination shining in his eyes.

* * *

Will had been trying to lead the Skandians away from the direction he thought that Evanlyn was heading in, causing as much chaos as he could. He had gotten lucky with a Skandian that had his back towards him, staring into the trees in the opposite direction, and he had been able to knock the man out with a rather large rock. Halt had taught him to be able to adapt at a moments notice, so it wasn't too hard for Will to figure out that a piece of wood wasn't nearly hard enough to knock out a bull-headed sea pirate. _It seems that a rock works nicely though_, Will had thought with a satisfied smile as he unsheathed the Skandian's large dagger.

When he had first held the dagger, he had felt the smallest glimmer of hope, as if his farfetched plan might actually work. Now though, as he stared into the enraged gaze of the Jarl, Will felt his hope leave him. He had spotted Evanlyn watching him not 20 feet away, and he knew that if he didn't act in the next few seconds, she would be caught too. Clutching the dagger tightly, Will realized what he had to do; he needed to draw the Skandian's attention to stop him from finding Evanlyn. Taking a deep breath, Will threw himself at the large man in front of him, the dagger in his right hand aimed at the barrel shaped chest.

* * *

Erak watched in shock as the young apprentice lunged at him, dagger held outstretched. He hesitated for a moment before realizing that if he didn't so something in the next second, he was going to end up with the dagger in his chest. As soon as he realized this, his hands moved as if of their own accord, a practiced movement used in a lifetime of raids. The battleaxe swung towards Will, aimed for the joint where Will's right arm met his shoulder, before Will lunged slightly to the side, causing the blow to miss slightly and collide with the young ranger's collarbone instead.

Erak watched Will fall to the ground and shook his head slightly. He had admired the boy's courage; it was a pity that he was forced to axe him, but he couldn't take the chance of leaving the boy alive. The relationship between Skandia and Araluen was rocky at best and after their role as machineries for Morgarath was revealed, things were likely to get worse. The boy would make a powerful enemy, one he couldn't risk leaving alive to come after him in the future.

Will lay on the ground, not moving, and feeling blood dribbling from his shoulder and oozing onto the ground beside him, pooling around him. As the deep blackness of unconsciousness crept into vision, Will thought he could hear Halt in the distance, berating him for his completely stupid heroics.

* * *

Evanlyn watched the scene in front of her in shock. She had been running through the trees, trying to find Will, and time seemed to halt as she finally caught sight of her friend. He was standing in front of the Skandian Jarl, holding nothing but a knife as he looked desperately into the trees for an escape route. She watched his eyes widen with shock and horror as he caught sight of her, before focusing once more on the Skandian in front of him. She watched in terror as he launched himself forward, straight at the armed Jarl. Before she could even scream, it was all over. Will fell to the ground, lying awkwardly on his back, unmoving. As she watched, blood seeped from the wound onto the forest floor, staining the browning leaves a vivid red. Tears filled her eyes as she turned and ran once more into the forest.

The young girl didn't stop running until long after the sounds of pursuit had faded into the night and she had collided with a low hanging branch that, through her tears, she hadn't been able to see.

Evanlyn couldn't believe it. Will was dead, and as she desperately picked herself up and continued on, she realized that he hadn't even known her true name. He had given his life to save her and he thought of her as no more than Evanlyn, lady's maid.

Wiping her eyes once more, Evanlyn promised herself that all of Araluen would know that Will no-name had died a hero. That he was brave, courageous, smart, and one of the best archers that she had ever seen; that he had died to save the life of Crown Princess Cassandra.

* * *

**A/N**

**So, what did you think? Please leave me a review and let me know what you liked, either in the old version or this one, and what you would like to see. I have the plot mostly sorted out, but it couldn't hurt to have more suggestions!**

**I know that there isn't much difference between the dark and normal versions at the moment, but as the stories continue I promise that they will branch off more until the stories are obviously separate.**

**Hehehe, there is a hint of what could happen sometime in the future somewhere in this chapter, did you spot it? It's one of the only things different between this chapter and the normal one.**

**I know I said that I would update two days from now (aprox), but I have a science camp from tomorrow for 6 days and I'm not sure if I would be able to update on time so I decided that It would be better to update earlier than later. I was going to have a friend log into my account an post it for me on the right date, but I decided that it would be too compicated as she would have to create the whole new story. **

**Ali Ranger51.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

"What on earth did you have to axe him for, you great battle-happy brute? It wasn't as if he could have actually hurt you! Bloody hell, Erak, the kid's half your size!"

"I was angry alright! I wasn't going to let them both get away! Who the bloody hell do you think you are to question me, Svengal? I'm Jarl here!" Svengal watched as Erak's face went from red, to an alarming shade of beetroot purple. He knew it would be unwise to continue, but he couldn't help himself.

"The boy is probably going to die now, and even if he doesn't then he is bloody useless! Ragnak will never buy him as a slave now!" Svengal opened his mouth as if he wanted to say more but, before he got the chance, a giant fist collided with his head and sent Svengal flying backwards into the dirt. Erak stood above his second in command ominously and considered adding a kick for good measure.

Fortunately for Svengal, Will had chosen that moment to let out a low groan of pain, startling the arguing Skandians from their rage.

They were still standing in the small clearing where Will had fallen, Svengal having just come across the scene as he searched for the girl.

Erak watched as Svengal clambered back to his feet to stand before him once more.

"Well, what the hell do we do with him now? Are you going to finish him off, or just wait for that wound _you_ gave him to do it for you? The boy is useless to us now; we'll never get a profit from him, injured as he is! You may as well have just let him escape!" Svengal was shouting again as he contemplated the loss of a profit from the young Araluen boy lying off to the side.

"The boy is a ranger, Svengal. I take it that you noticed the bronze amulet he is wearing, and how neatly he dropped those Wargals with that bow of his? Admittedly, he's only an apprentice, but if he had managed to escape and get back to the Araluen camp, you could kiss any kind of success from this _disaster_ of a war goodbye!" Erak stated with a growl.

Svengal looked uncomprehendingly at his Jarl. "He's only a boy! How could he make such a difference to the outcome of the war?"

Erak gave his second in command a glare that clearly said, _You are being an idiot __and__ incredibly thick-headed._ "Remember a few years back when we were raiding in Seacliff? It was a Ranger that took out Gorad and Thorfin as we were getting away."

Svengal nodded in remembrance but still couldn't understand exactly why the boy was such a threat; _He was only an apprentice after all, how much damage could he really do?_

As if he had read Svengal's mind, Erak continued speaking, "rangers are a key part of Araluen's success over the last few years. They are the best archers _I've ever seen_, and they are the Araluen King's information network. The boy might only be an apprentice, and a young one at that, but he has already destroyed the bridge! Surely you haven't forgotten that already?" Svengal looked decidedly guilty as Erak brought up the bridge, proving that he had, in fact, forgotten about the fiasco the night before.

"If the boy were to escape he would undoubtedly find his way to the Araluen army, and once there, he would have enough influence to talk to some people high-up. Who knows what the boy has managed to find out about Morgarath's plans for the upcoming battle! I couldn't take the chance that he could warn the Araluens about the group of our countrymen attacking through the fens," Erak finished.

Svengal was silent for a moment as he thought. What Erak said made perfect sense and, now that he thought about it, he didn't doubt that _somehow_ the boy had managed to find out about the party attacking through the fens. He might not feel much loyalty to many of the crews in the party waiting on the other side of the fens, but he did not want to see any of them killed unnecessarily. Svengal opened his mouth as something occurred to him, "What about the girl? Couldn't she warn the Araluens about Morgarath's plans?"

Erak shook his head before replying, "No, she's just a commoner, a nobody. She wouldn't be able to find anyone to tell, and even if she did, they wouldn't listen to her. She's not a threat to us."

"Maybe not, but what do we do with the boy now? We can't just leave him here." Svengal nudged Will with his foot, causing the boy to let out another small groan. He wasn't conscious yet, at least not enough to make sense of what was going on around him. All he knew was that his shoulder felt like it was on fire and that someone had just done something to make him hurt _more_.

Erak thought about his options for a moment, running his fingers along the blade of his battleaxe as he did so. "We sell him to Morgarath," he finally stated, giving a decisive nod of the head. "That way we don't have to worry about getting rid of a body, and we can still get a reasonable profit from him. Morgarath will pay well for a ranger."

"It would be kinder to just finish him off now, Erak." Svengal looked sadly at the boy still lying on the grass, surrounded by his own blood.

"I know." A flash of uncertainty flickered across Erak's face for a second before his expression hardened again. "But while the boy is still alive, I can get a decent profit for him. If things were going better for this campaign of Morgaraths, I wouldn't even think about handing the lad over to him, but with the way things are looking now, I don't think we're going to get much out of this. My gut's telling me that the boy is likely to be the only profit we're likely to get."

Erak turned and began walking away, shouting over his shoulder as he went, "Get Usal to treat the boy's shoulder, I don't want him to snuff it before we can sell him!"

The second in command studied Will for a moment, thinking about what Erak had said. It made sense, all of it. Erak wasn't a cruel man, but he would do whatever was necessary for his crew. Svengal wouldn't begrudge the man for putting his men before his morals. Slowly, Svengal turned away from Will and headed back to their campground to find Usal so he could tend to his wound.

* * *

Evanlyn, or Cassandra as she was rightly called, was hungry and exhausted. She felt like she had been running for days even though in reality it had only been around four hours. She had passed a party of Wargals about an hour earlier and though the beasts terrified her, she knew that she would have to pass many more before she reached her father's camp.

She had dropped a small parcel of food, blankets, and water in shock when she had seen Will struck down, and was now kicking herself for her momentary lapse of common sense. It would be another couple of days until she reached the Plains of Uthal, and she was already starving and shivering from the cold. Her cloak and Will's had been taken by the Skandians, and her clothes were torn and dirty from her desperate run through the trees.

Moving around the countryside was infuriating. The closer she got to the Plains, the less cover there was. Cassandra was forced to sprint dangerously from one scarce patch of cover to the next in order to avoid being spotted by wandering Wargals.

This most definitely was not something that she had been trained to do. When Cassandra was young, she had played with sons and daughters of the nobility that had come to the castle. One of her favourite games was called 'Knights and Thieves', where one group of children, the thieves, would try to sneak past the rest who were playing knights.

With a scowl, Cassandra remembered how one day, shortly after her ninth birthday, her father had cornered her after one such game, "You are going to be Queen one day, Cassandra, and you need to start acting like it. These games must stop. You should be learning to be a proper lady, _not_ how to run around the royal gardens bashing your friends with sticks!"

_Well_, mused Cassandra, _I am certainly going to talk to my father about that when I get back! A fat lot of use knowing how to waltz is now!_

"Dammit!" Cassandra swore as she was startled from her thoughts by tripping. She fell heavily to the ground. For a moment, she considered just lying there and waiting for the Skandians to find her. _I can't do this! Will could have done it!_ She felt her eyes fill with tears as she thought of her friend.

Struggling, the Crown Princess pulled herself to her feet. She was going to make it. She had to. Will had died to save her so she wasn't just going to give up.

Gritting her teeth, once more filled with purpose, Cassandra started forth once more.

* * *

It felt like his shoulder was on fire. Will slowly tried to piece together what had happened. He remembered running through the trees to lead the Skandians away from Evanlyn, running into a lone Skandian and taking his knife. He remembered his blinding panic as he saw Evanlyn so close to being caught; he remembered his mad leap towards Erak, knife raised in front of him. Then pain. Blinding, white-hot pain. And then… nothing.

Questions shot one after the other through his mind.

Had Evanlyn escaped?

Where was he?

How long had he been unconscious?

How bad was the injury to his shoulder?

Would he still be able to shoot?

And, most worrying of all, what was going to happen to him now?

Will flinched as he felt someone touch his aching shoulder, sending a wave of pain through his body. He managed to catch a whiff of the same warmweed salve that Halt used for healing, before the paste was liberally applied to his shoulder. The paste was a painkiller and worked to stave off infection as well. When he had first begun his training with his two knives, Halt had given him a small container of it as he had kept accidentally nicking his fingers.

Halt.

Had Halt found him before Erak had managed to finish him off? Surely, Halt was the one tending to him now. Will felt a sharp sense of joy and relief before it occurred to him that if Halt had arrived in time to save him, he had also seen his mad attack on the Skandian. He groaned. Halt was so going to kill him.

Will opened his eyes, sure that he would see the grizzled face of his mentor above him, with Tug and Abelard snorting at the tree line, and a pot of coffee sitting on a fire beside them. Even though he would probably be angry about Will's recent stupidity, it would be a great relief to see Halt again.

Sure enough, there was a figure leaning over him, and Will blinked to bring his mentor into focus. It took him less than a second to realize that the figure was too large to be his mentor, and that thought was confirmed as the face of a Skandian suddenly loomed in front of him. There was no smell of brewing coffee, no Tug and Abelard, and definitely no Halt. He was still a captive.

Terrified, Will flinched away from the hand that was nearing his shoulder holding a needle and thread. He didn't have time to do anything more though as the Skandian placed his other hand firmly on his chest, stopping him from moving. He barely had time to scream as the Skandian pierced the flesh in his injured shoulder with the needle, as his wound flared in protest despite the painkilling salve, before he blacked out and sank, mercifully, back into oblivion.

* * *

**A/N**

**Thank you to my betas, Alyss Mainwaring and Pendragon.P A S S I O N!**

**I have an issue that I would like your input on. In the books, Ranger is spelt with a capital, always. However (as far as I am aware, if I am wrong, please correct me!) in proper English language, professions are not given capitals, unless part of a specific title, e.g. in 'we went to see Doctor Frank', doctor would have a capital, and in 'we went to the doctor', doctor does not have a capital. So far I have been spelling 'ranger' following the proper rule, but it does look a little funny… So, here is my question. **

**Do you want me to continue writing 'ranger' without a capital, or do you want me to change it so ranger is capitalised? Please let me know via review, the poll on my Author page, or with a PM. I'm going to take a vote. Whatever the more people want, wins. I'll keep the poll open until I have a reasonable amount of votes. So, please get voting!**

**And don't forget to tell me what you think of the story as well! XD**

**Ali Ranger51**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Will awoke to a burning pain in his shoulder, a deep-set ache in his collarbone, and a nauseous swaying. It took him a few minutes to make sense of the strange rocking sensation and realize that he was being carried. It took him slightly longer to remember why. He had been injured and captured. Halt hadn't rescued him. At least, he hadn't, _yet_. Halt would come. He just knew it; his mentor had never let him down before.

Focusing on his current situation, Will wished that the man would just put him down and let him sleep. He felt very tired, but Will supposed that was because of his injury. Didn't people normally feel tired after they lost a lot of blood?

The man that was carrying him wasn't being very gentle, he walked as if he was trying to personally flatten and annihilate every single blade of grass and stick in the surrounding area. _Stomp. Stomp. Stomp._ The sound reverberated through Will's head, starting a hot throb behind his eyes that beat in time to the man's footsteps. _Stomp. Stomp. Stomp._

Will let out a groan of relief when the giant carrying him finally stopped moving, and placed him, rather too roughly for Will's taste, on a low wooden bench, inside what he could only assume was a tent. He had heard the rustling of oilskin as they entered, but he was far too tired to be bothered with opening his eyes to find out for sure. He just wanted his head to stop spinning and aching, and for the pain in his shoulder to go away.

"Ahh, good. He's still alive. I would have been very disappointed if the boy had died before I could examine him, Captain." The voice was cruel and mocking, and Will shook in terror as he guessed the man's identity. _Please let it be just a nightmare. Please let me wake up. Please, someone, anyone, don't let that be Morgarath!_

"The correct title is Jarl, my Lord." Erak's tone was cold and clearly showed his disgust of the other man, but he couldn't match the first speaker's outright cruelty.

"Well, _Captain_, I will try and remember that in case I ever have to deal with your barbaric country ever again," said Morgarath, Lord of the Mountains of Rain and Night, former Baron of Gorlan fief. Will could tell that he held nothing but contempt for Erak.

There was a shift in the light above him and Will tried desperately to remain still and silent, pretending to be asleep. However, he was unable to hold in his gasp of pain and his eyes shot open to meet Morgarath's coal black ones as he loomed over him. Will trembled as Morgarath grabbed the bronze oakleaf amulet at his throat.

He meticulously examined the amulet, harshly pulling and twisting on the chain, choking Will as he did so, before he let the small symbol fall to sit back around Will's neck. He drew a dagger from his belt and smiled vindictively as he grabbed Will's chin waving the dagger vindictively in front of his face.

Suddenly He moved, as fast as a viper, slashing the knife down to cut through the bandages binding Will's shoulder wound. Will saw a flash of teeth as blood red lips twisted into a cruel smirk, as Morgarath pulled the bindings away from the still raw wound in his shoulder. The heartless man was heedless of Will's flinch of pain as the rough fabric caught on the stitches and pus filled scabs holding the wound together, drawing blood.

Morgarath examined the wound much in the same way as he did the amulet, pulling, prodding, and making sure to cause Will as much pain as he could. When he was satisfied with his examination of the wound, Morgarath flashed the young boy in front of him a blood-thirsty smile, before he straightened and beckoned forth one of his generals. Will felt the cold hand of premonition grip his heart in its smothering grasp, as he lay perfectly still, not even daring to breathe.

"Take the boy back to my castle in the Mountains and throw him in the dungeons." Will began to shake, desperately hoping that everything that had happened since the burning of the bridge was just an especially vivid nightmare. Morgarath's hatred of rangers was legendary, and ironically, Halt had sparked that hatred when he had defeated Morgarath at Hackham Heath. Will held no illusions of what would happen to him once he arrived at Morgarath's black castle. What more would the traitorous baron do to him when he discovered that he was Halt's apprentice?

General Owen, one of Morgarath's men since the last war, had come forward when Morgarath had beckoned, and he bowed low before he answered, "Of course, my Lord."

Before Owen could shout for one of his men to pick up the boy, Morgarath spoke once more, his voice low and threatening, "However, General, if the boy is to die on the way there or before I can arrive back to see him, I will make sure that you and your men pay in blood for your disobedience."

Bowing low once more, but with a slight tremble this time, Owen left the tent, being careful not to jar the boy's wounds as he carried him from the tent.

"Now, my Lord, about payment-"

"Payment? What payment, Captain Erak? You surely don't expect to be paid for doing your duty and handing me an Araluan spy, do you?" Morgarath hissed coldly, leaving no room for argument. "Besides, the boy is next to worthless until he is able to regain consciousness for more than a few seconds. Perhaps, Captain, next time you will bring such a valuable captive directly to me, rather than after you had made him useless as a slave."

With a self-satisfied smirk, Morgarath, Lord of the Mountains of Rain and Night, left the furious Jarl, and called his men to ready themselves for war.

* * *

"Oh thank God!" Cassandra exclaimed in relief.

She had been walking through the night for two days before she reached the Guardian Mountain Range, meaning that she was nearing the plains of Uthal. Luckily, she had been able to find a small spring and a clump of wild blackberries the evening before attempting to pass through the mountains. Despite having long geography lessons and learning the layout of the kingdom's fiefs from a young age, Cassandra was mostly unfamiliar with these mountains, having never actually visited them before.

There was no visible pass through the mountains that Cassandra could see, although there was bound to be one somewhere near here; Morgarath would have needed it to attack her father's army the way he had planned.

After eating her fill of blackberries, Cassandra had woven a small basket from some common water reeds to enable her to take some berries with her. She didn't know when she would be able to find food again. Unfortunately, she had been unable to weave a basket tight enough to hold more than a mouthful of water. Learning how to find water and food while alone in the bush was not part of her upbringing, and Cassandra was fast coming to the conclusion that there were some serious holes in her education.

By the time that she had given up on making a watertight basket, it was dark and Cassandra had found herself falling into a dream like trance. She had been afraid to sleep before now, as she had felt too exposed to wandering Wargals while crossing the Solitary Plain to allow herself to relax enough to sleep. Before she knew it, the young girl was fast asleep, curled into a tight protective ball.

When Cassandra finally awoke, it was nearly mid-afternoon and sunlight was streaming in patches through the trees above her. Cassandra lay still for a moment before her stomach cramped and heaved, her mouth filling with bile.

Turning on her side, the crown princess vomited up the majority of the blackberries she had eaten the night before. After eating the amount she had on an empty stomach, Cassandra shouldn't have been surprised that the berries had made a comeback, but she was. Quickly, she rinsed the bitter taste of her sick out of her mouth.

Hands trembling from hunger and exhaustion, the young girl picked and ate more berries, making sure to do so slowly and to refrain from eating more than a handful of the juicy black fruits. Cassandra knew that no matter how hungry she was, she couldn't risk throwing up again, it would only dehydrate her further, and she had no idea when she would next be able to find a source of water.

Clutching tightly to her now full basket of blackberries (and angrily muttering some carefully chosen words at her still cramping stomach), Cassandra set off down a goat trail, hoping frantically that it would lead her to her father, and to safety.

* * *

It was nearly four days and several wrong turns before Cassandra managed to pass through the Guardian Mountains and spot her father's army. Despite her apprehension about her journey through the mountains, the young princess had found that it was easier than she had anticipated to find food and water. Fruits were bountiful in this part of the kingdom and the mountains held many fresh springs and pools of water.

As Cassandra was making her way down and out of the Guardian Mountains, she had caught her first glimpse of her father's army in the dawn light, the tents littering the plains between the foot of the mountains and the base of Thorntree Forest. At that moment, the jumbled smattering of tents and armed knights was one of the most beautiful things that Cassandra had ever seen.

As she had gotten closer, the girl had been able to hear the distant clanging of metal on metal, and spot the Araluan Flag and her father's personal standard, a stylised Golden Eagle, flying from various tents.

She was almost safe. Slowly Cassandra began to make out the individual parts of an army this size. There were the footmen, the cavalry, the cook sites, and of course, the command tents, smack bang in the middle, where she knew she would be able to find her father.

Striding confidently from the cover of the surrounding trees, just over six hours after first glimpsing the campsite, Cassandra walked purposefully towards the camp and there was a shout of alarm as a sentry spotted her.

"Halt, in the King's name!" Cassandra was shocked. She had never been challenged by one of her father's men before. With a start, the Crown Princess thought about how she must look and realized that it was no wonder that she hadn't been recognised. Her newly cropped hair was matted and tangled with leaves and twigs, and she hadn't had a wash in over a fortnight. There were a bags under her eyes and her clothes were little more than rags. Really, it was no wonder that the man had stopped her. She looked more like a stray beggar than a princess.

Newly self-conscious, Cassandra ran her hands over her breeches as she spoke to the guard. "I have urgent news for King Duncan. I must speak with him immediately." As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she realized how ridiculous she must sound. At the same time, she realized that she should keep her identity a secret until she could get a meeting with her father. How she was going to convince the sentry that it was essential she meet with the King of Araluen was going to be the problem.

The sentry silently opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, trying to decide what to say. The girl's accent was Araluan, but she obviously shouldn't be in the middle of an army that was reading itself for war. She spoke with authority, which contrasted sharply with her muddy appearance. She was trembling with exhaustion, and as he watched, she shook her head in a useless attempt to clear her muddied thoughts. Nodding to himself, the sentry opened his mouth as he made up his mind. "Follow me and I will take you to the cooking tents. You look like you need a good meal and I will ask one of my superiors to come and see you."

Her stomach grumbled as they arrived at the cooking tents and her shaking intensified in response to the smell of food. The last decent meal she had had was a hot beef stew with Horace, Will, and Gilan. _Gilan_. All of a sudden, Cassandra got an idea. "Sir, instead of finding one of your commanding officers, would you be able to find Rangers Gilan and Halt for me? Just tell Ranger Gilan that Evanlyn is here to see him. He will understand." _Hopefully,_ Cassandra added silently to herself, as she eyed a dripping roast that was cooking off to her right.

The sentry frowned silently to himself and before muttering an almost inaudible, "Yes ma'am." The rangers were a mysterious lot and rumour had it that they dabbled in the black arts. He would have preferred to have nothing to do with the sharp-eyed bowmen, but the girl looked ready to collapse, and he was smart enough to realize that she had important information to pass on. He left the girl in the competent—and quick-ladled—hands of Master Chubb, who was in charge of the busy cooking tents and its staff, before leaving in search of the two rangers.

* * *

**A/N**

**Thank you to my betas, Alyss Mainwaring and Pendragon.P a s s i o n for putting up with me and my last minute sendoffs! **

**Thanks to everyone that reviewed and special thanks to those readers who told me what they thought of my ranger/Ranger problem. Unless someone has a serious reason why I should write Ranger without a capital, I have decided to use, from now on, a capital leter for Ranger. Because Rangers are just that epic. XD I will go back and edit the previous chapters when I put up chapter 4, so in two weeks. **

**Please don't forget to leave me a review, I think I get more of a kick out of replying to them than you get from sending them actually... I quite often say lots of random little things, whatever hapens to be on my mind at the time... It's a bit strange and random actually, but I'm just that kind of strange and random person!**

**Ali Ranger51**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

The slightly confused sentry had only made it a few paces from the cooking ground when it occurred to him that he had absolutely no idea where to find the rather elusive Rangers.

He hadn't come across a Ranger camp before, nor did he have any idea if there even _was_ one. He swore silently to himself as he turned on the spot, slowly wondering where exactly he was supposed to go. Finally, he decided to go in the direction of the command tents. After all, despite their strange talents, Rangers were important and influential people; it made sense that there would be at least one Ranger at the command pavilion. Even if the two Rangers he was looking for weren't there, another Ranger would probably know where to find them.

With this definite course of action in mind, the sentry strode off towards the centre of the camp, weaving his way through messengers and wandering knights as he went.

* * *

"Excuse me, sir?"

Ranger Commandant Crowley was slightly startled at being addressed by what appeared to be a common sentry. Normally common folk avoided the Rangers, but he hastily covered up his confusion before answering the sentry, "May I help you?"

The sentry wouldn't look him in the eye as he replied and shifted his weight nervously from one foot to the other, his confidence in his plan of action wilting somewhat now that he was face to face with an actual Ranger. "I hope so, sir," he began, taking a deep breath. "I was looking for Ranger Halt and Ranger Gilan, and I was wondering if you might be able to tell me where I could find them."

Crowley refrained from rolled his eyes at the formal speech of the man, but he was used to getting this kind of reaction from people. They tended to only interact with Rangers when they were forced to, so he, being the leader of the mysterious Ranger corps, was avoided as much as possible.

"Both Rangers are in a meeting with the King at the moment I'm afraid, sir. May I pass on a message?" Despite himself, Crowley was curious. He normally wouldn't play messenger, but he wanted to know why this sentry needed to talk to two Rangers.

"I, um, yes sir," stuttered the sentry, rather thrown by this turn of events. He hadn't been expecting to be able to finish the task so easily; of course, finding someone willing to pass on his message was definitely helpful, even if somewhat unexpected. "There is a girl waiting at the cooking tents sir. I met her about an hour ago as she approached the west side of the camp, and when I asked her who she was, she just asked me to take her to King Duncan. I took her to the cooking tents instead, so she asked me to find Rangers Gilan and Halt, and to tell them that she wants to see them."

_Curious_, pondered Crowley. He gave a small frown as he tried to figure out exactly what an apparently common girl was doing wandering around a battlefield and why she would ask to speak to two specific Rangers. "Did she mention why she wanted to talk to Halt and Gilan?"

"She said only to tell them that Evanlyn was waiting in the cooking tents. I assume that was her name, sir. Evanlyn." He added rather unnecessarily. Once more, Crowley managed to stop himself from rolling his eyes.

Sure that the sentry had nothing else of use, Crowley dismissed the man and assured him that he would pass on the message before heading towards the command tent where a rather important meeting was currently taking place. He was late as it was. As he pushed open the tent flap, he wondered who the girl was. _Evanlyn._ He was sure that he had heard that name before somewhere, and there was a niggling feeling in the back of his mind that he was missing something. Well, he was sure that he wouldn't have to wait very long to find out.

* * *

Gilan was rather mystified as to why he had been invited to a meeting of the War Council, as he wasn't a senior Ranger, although he suspected that Halt was trying to keep him busy to stop him running off to find Will and the Princess.

Looking around, Gilan could tell that he didn't really belong there. He was by far the lowest ranked person in the tent. There were three Senior Barons; Arald of Redmont, Thorn of Drayden and Fergus of Caraway, along with his father, Sir David, Battlemaster of Caraway, and Field Commander of the King's army, all sitting around a long wooden table. King Duncan himself sat at the head of the table with Halt sitting to his right, as he was one of the King's most trusted advisors. Crowley was late.

_Speak of the devil_, Gilan thought. Crowley had just walked into the tent and nodding informally to the King, he joined Halt and Gilan at their spot around the table rough wooden table. As the Barons continued their talk of tactics and other necessities of the coming war, Crowley lent close to Halt's ear and beckoned to Gilan with a wink.

"So," Halt said, raising his eyebrow, "how come you're late?"

"I was talking to a sentry." From the smug look on Crowley's face Gilan assumed that this was supposed to mean something to him and he said so.

"He was looking for you two. Do you have any idea why?"

"No." Halt had little patience for Crowley's stalling tactics and decided to get right to the point. "Did you ask him what he wanted? Surely a brilliant mind such as yourself would have thought to ask the sentry why he was looking for us." Halt didn't bother to disguise the sarcasm in his voice.

After stalling for a moment longer, Crowley decided to tell them. Hopefully they would figure out what the cryptic message meant. "He said a girl named Evanlyn was waiting for you at the cooking tents. Said she had arrived on the west side of camp looking exhausted and filthy. Apparently she requested you two specifically and told the sentry that you would know who she was."

Halt was looking confused. He had no idea why a girl named Evanlyn was asking for him, so it was a bit of a shock when Gilan shouted loudly beside him.

"Oh my god!" Everyone in the tent turned to look at Gilan as he shouted and followed the exclamation with some rather colourful swear words. Obviously, the name meant something to him.

"Care to explain, Gilan?" Despite his suspicions about the girl, Crowley hadn't expected such a violent response to his news.

"Yes, care to explain, Gilan?" This time it was King Duncan who spoke, holing up a hand to stall Sir David, who looked about ready to give his son a sharp clout around the head for his language. Duncan wasn't the kind of man to miss things, and he had a feeling that whatever Crowley had just told Gilan was rather important.

"Sorry, sir." Gilan sent a guilty look at his father before continuing. "Crowley just told me that a girl named Evanlyn has arrived at the camp and has requested to see Halt and myself." Breathless, he waited for the King to recognize the significance of the name the girl had given.

As he saw the sudden recognition in Duncan's eyes, Gilan told the curious onlookers what was going on. "Evanlyn was the name Princess Cassandra used when she wished to keep her identity a secret in Celtica. I think that she and Will managed to escape their captors and are here in camp."

Without further hesitation, Duncan ran from the tent, closely followed by Halt and Gilan, leaving a rather stunned Crowley to scramble after them.

* * *

Evanlyn had just finished her third bowl of beef stew, when she heard a commotion behind her. The young girl turned and began to scan the tents behind her, just in time to see her father, the King, run up to Master Chubb, gesturing wildly. He was closely followed by two men in grey and green mottled cloaks—Rangers. The taller man she recognized as Gilan, and an older man whom she assumed to be Will's mentor, Halt.

The cowl had fallen from the grizzled Ranger's face, and as his sharp eyes scanned the tents, she could clearly see that he cared deeply for his apprentice.

Cassandra felt a stab of pity and guilt, before she pushed it to the back of her mind and stood up, the empty wooden bowl in her hands falling to the ground with a clatter. "Dad!" she cried, her voice carrying over the busy campground.

* * *

Duncan had arrived at the cooking tents when he found Master Chubb. He frantically asked the chef where the shorthaired girl had been taken, but before Chubb could answer, he heard a shout behind him. He recognized the voice instantly, despite having not heard it in months. It was his daughter. Turning sharply, he easily spotted her, covered in mud and dirt, as she rushed forward, and flung herself, sobbing, into his embrace.

"Cassie," The King muttered softly as he let his tears of joy run freely down his face.

Gilan politely looked away from his King, and began scanning the area where Evanlyn had come from, trying to spot Will. He saw Halt standing beside him anxiously doing the same, obviously expecting his missing apprentice to appear any second from a gap between some tents. Gilan began to feel a sense of foreboding as no small green figure appeared.

Halt felt the same uneasy sense of foreboding. Pushing the feeling away, the gruff Ranger turned to a very bewildered Master Chubb. "Where is the boy?" he demanded.

"What boy? The girl arrived alone."

At Chubb's puzzled tone, Cassandra pulled herself reluctantly out of her father's comforting arms and turned her tear stained face towards the two Rangers.

"I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry." Cassandra couldn't say it. Her eyes begged the two men to understand.

Halt's blood went cold. His voice went quiet and deadly as he spoke once more, and his polite tone made him even more terrifying. "What do you mean, Princess? What are you sorry for?"

Cassandra gave a small sob and she began to shake as she looked the greying Ranger in the eyes. "Will's dead. We-we were escaping but everything went wr-wrong. They chased us and th-the Skandian he-he-he killed him. He was trying to save me, to give me time to escape and the b-b-bastard killed him! I'm sorry. I am truly sorry." Her voice was desperate as she tried to make Halt understand. "Will was my fr-friend. I didn't want him to die for me!" Cassandra's voice finally broke and her father wrapped his arms around her, gently pressing her head into his chest.

Halt couldn't believe it. It was impossible. It was all a giant mistake. But he knew it wasn't. He sunk to the ground and allowed the world around him to fade away, his eyes filling with tears as his body was raked by silent tremors.

Without prompting, various memories rose to the front of his mind. Will, a guilty expression on his face, as he was caught stealing pies. Will, laughing as he darted in and out of the trees, his Ranger cloak darting around behind him, filled with life and energy. Will, gently praising Tug as he fed the barrel-chested pony an apple after a day's lesson. Will, determination showing in every line of his body as he drew the bowstring back to touch his cheek, the flaming arrow licking at his hand. Will, holding a glinting bronze oakleaf amulet as he looked Halt in the eye, finally having found a home in the small wooden cabin in the woods; finally having found a family.

Dimly, Halt realized that there were tears slowing making their way down his face, and he made to wipe them away before he stopped and let his hand fall back down to his side. There was no shame in letting his grief be shown. Will deserved these tears.

* * *

King Duncan was shocked. He felt a pang of guilt for the death of a Ranger Apprentice that he had never met. However, at the same time he was infinitely grateful to the boy. He had saved his daughter, and he would make sure the boy, Will, would be remembered for his sacrifice.

What puzzled Duncan though, were the reactions of the two Rangers. Halt had seemed to crumple within himself, and Duncan saw with shock that there were tears running down his face as he stared blankly into the sky, not truly seeing. Even more puzzling than Halt's reaction though was Gilan's. The young Ranger hadn't moved. He seemed frozen to the spot. As Duncan watched Gilan with growing concern he finally moved, quick as a snake.

Gilan drew his sword, heedless of his surroundings, and swung it viciously, point first, into the ground with an ear-splitting shout. _Will was dead! And it was his fault! If he hadn't left them then Will would still be alive!_ He stared at the quivering blade for a long moment, before slowly pulling it out of the dirt. He didn't bother to sheath the weapon, and simply held it in his tightly clenched fist as he spun around and left the cooking grounds, brushing passed a dumbstruck Crowley as he went.

* * *

**A/N**

**For those of you who also read the normal version of this story, you will probably have noticed that this chapter is exactly the same as the chapter uploaded there last monday... I was going to add some 'dark' scenes and thoughts to this chapter, but I didn't think it needed it. I thought that some dark thoughts or reactions to the news would just make the characters too wierd and out-of-character... The next few chapters are most likely going to be very similar to the normal version of this story, so I apologize to those who read both and who will end up having to read each chapter twice. As a prize for sticking with the very similar (identical) chapters in both version, I may upload a bonus chapter sometime this week. It depends on how busy I am, and how motivated I get. (Hint, hint, nudge, nudge. Reviews are my motivation!)**

**Thank you to my beta Pendragon.P a s s i o n, for putting up with my crazy updates... (I sent off this chapter to be betaed aprox. 12 hrs ago... It came back with very little corrections added, and little notes of praise, which made me feel not so guilty for sending this off last minute...) **

**Ali Ranger51**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Will's whole body ached, and it took him a couple minutes to remember that the rough jerking sensation he felt was a wagon, which was currently travelling through a dark and ominous looking forest towards the Mountains of Night and Rain. He wasn't sure how long they had been travelling for, but he didn't think that it had been longer than four or five days.

After he had been carried from Morgarath's tent, he had been thrown into the back of a wagon. The last thing Will remembered was a sharp, sudden pain as his head hit the wooden slats, and he presumed that he had been knocked out.

When he finally awoke, he found that shoulder smelled like his flesh was rotting. The bandage was damp and his whole arm felt achingly hot and tight. Will assumed that General Owen had taken the order to keep him alive very seriously as the bandage was clean, his wound was slathered in warmweed salve, and he was also given regular meals. Despite Owen's best efforts however, he seemed unable to get rid of the infection that had set into his shoulder.

When Will was able to remain conscious for more than a half hour at a time, he had shackled him to a sturdy iron ring in the floor of the wagon. Will realised that the ring and wagon must have been used for transporting prisoners before, as everything was very efficient and sturdy. There was no way he would have been able to break off the shackle or any part of the chain even if he had been healthy.

As the wagon travelled through the wild and intimidating forest surrounding the Mountains that hid and protected Morgarath's black castle, Will, between bouts of feverish sleep, began making plans to escape. He hid a small part of every meal in the folds of his shirt, and asked General Owen questions whenever the man was willing to answer them, mostly as he was tending to his shoulder.

The man talked about the last war sixteen years ago, and his hatred of the Wargals. He told Will that he had been in his last year of Battleschool, training to become a knight, before he had left to join Morgarath. He didn't say why he had left, but Will got the feeling that he would have stayed in Battleschool if he could have.

He wasn't stupid though, he knew that the only reason Owen was even answering his questions was because he felt sorry for him, and Will held no illusions about what was going to happen to him when they arrived at their destination. Morgarath's hatred of Rangers was legendary. Owen seemed to avoid talking about his fate too, appearing to pretend as he changed the dressing on Will's wound that the shackles didn't exist and that they were on the same side. Will wished that they were. He got the feeling that Owen would be a useful person to have watching his back.

Will rolled over and curled into a ball, pressing his knees into his stomach, wishing that he had his Ranger cloak instead of the mangy rags that he was currently using in a feeble attempt to warm himself. He watched the path fading away behind the wagon as he fell into a restless sleep, knowing that Halt would be tracking them, and that soon he would be rescued.

* * *

The news that a heroic Ranger apprentice had rescued the King's daughter from the hands of the enemy spread quickly through the camp. Unfortunately, so did the news that her rescuer had died in the process.

Horace was resting on a log at the outer rim of the practice fields that had been set up on the western side of the camp. He had spent all morning at the practice yard and was getting frustrated that even after a week at the camp, only some of the senior apprentices would spar with him. He couldn't understand why the boys his own age avoided him.

What Horace didn't realise was that the other apprentices found his skill intimidating and that they just couldn't match him stroke for stroke like Gilan could.

Sighing, Horace picked up his practice sword, headed towards a group of young men who were standing talking off to his right, and gathered his courage to ask them to spar with him. But when he heard what they were talking about, he froze and a chill spread through his body as suddenly as if he had been thrown into a pool of ice.

"I was talking to my cousin who saw her return. He said that she was really filthy, and that the King was crying and everything. I wasn't even aware that the girl had been kidnapped, but I suppose that he was keeping it quiet."

"People are saying that there was a boy, a Ranger's apprentice who was with her when she was captured, but that he died in the escape."

"I heard that too. My dad said that he saved her life, that he was the reason that she could get away."

"I heard that he was caught as they were running away, and that they hung him from a tree."

"I heard that there was a massive fight, and that one of Morgarath's men stabbed him in the back as he tried to protect her."

"I heard that Morgarath himself caught him, and that he was tortured to death. I bet it was really bloody. What a way to go."

"I heard that too, and that it took him nearly a week to die. They sent his mangled body back to Ranger Halt in a crate, because the boy was his apprentice."

Horace couldn't breathe. He couldn't see. He couldn't think. His felt as if an anvil had struck him in the chest. His entire body shook and he drew his sword, just wanting the cruel words to _stop_.

As if in a haze, he swung his sword in a vicious overhead strike at the closest boy, the one who had said that it had taken Will a week to die.

* * *

Sir Rodney had been supervising the training of the younger recruits, when he saw Horace freeze, before striking out at one of the other apprentices. Instantly, Rodney realized that this was no practice fight; this was for real.

He ran to the two apprentices, drawing his sword and shouting for the growing crowd of spectators to get out of the way. Horace was sending blow after blow towards his opponent, who was frantically trying to block the lightning fast strikes.

Before Horace could connect though, Rodney stepped in and with a deft flick of his wrist, twisted the point of the sword away from the struggling apprentice, and successfully caught Horace's attention, causing the young apprentice to attack him instead.

As they battled, Rodney caught sight of Horace's eyes; they were filled with such stricken grief that the Battlemaster instantly realized what had happened. He had thought that Horace had known.

The King had called Rodney, Chubb, Lady Pauline, and Baron Arald to a meeting early yesterday evening and had told them what had happened to Will. Each of those present had met the smiling, laughing boy, and had watched him grow up as a ward of Redmount. Although they might not have known him very well personally, each of them grieved for his loss. He had saved the lives of Rodney and the Baron during the fiasco at the ruins of Gorlan, and Pauline in particular knew how hurt Halt would be over his death.

Rodney had presumed that someone had told Will's former ward mates about his death, but he now realized that in the shock and confusion, Will's friends had been forgotten. The news was all over the camp by now, and as Rodney continued his grim battle with the stricken apprentice, he hoped that Will's other friends hadn't heard a garbled version of the story like Horace had.

It took nearly a half-hour of vigorous sparring for Rodney to tire out his young protégé, causing the boy to sink to the ground, finally allowing his tears to fall. After pausing a moment to check that Horace was no longer going to attack anyone, he sheathed his sword and gently picked him up off the ground, before striding away from the practice grounds.

* * *

Alyss was busy arranging the various maps that the King and his advisors were using in preparation for war. It was a delicate job and each map had to be gently rolled up and placed in its proper spot. She was carrying the final bundle over to a chest in the corner when her former ward mate Jenny came sprinting over and embraced her, spreading the delicately drawn maps all over the dusty ground. Jenny sobbed as if the world was collapsing around her and the plump girl clung desperately to her young friend. Alyss was stunned. She knew that Jenny would start crying over just about anything, as she had a rather large heart, but this was different, much more serious. Something had really upset the normally vibrant girl.

"Jenny? What's going on? What's the matter?" she queried, gently smoothing Jenny's honey coloured hair.

"I just heard! God, it's horrible, Alyss! Will! How could this happen?" The young cook was distraught and tears were running unhindered down her cheeks. She froze however as she saw the puzzled expression on her companion's face. "Oh my gosh, don't you know? I thought you would know! Master Chubb just told me before and I thought that Lady Pauline would have told you!" Jenny looked positively terrified at having to break the news to the older girl.

Alyss took a moment to ponder the speed at which Jenny could talk and the fact that she could do it seemingly without needing to breathe, before she attempted to calm her year mate. "Jenny," she began firmly, "take a deep breath, and tell me what is going on. What exactly did you think Pauline had told me?"

"It's Will, oh, Alyss, it's horrible! How could something like that happen?" At the young courier's stern look, Jenny realized that she was still rambling and that she hadn't actually answered the question. Her sobs quieted somewhat as she took a deep breath and continued. "He's dead, Alyss. I, I just…" Jenny broke off as she started sobbing again, as if voicing the fact made it more real.

Slowly, Alyss embraced her friend once more, as she realized what Jenny had said. Tears dripped down her slender face, and she slowly lowered her friend to the ground until they were both sitting in the dirt, heedless of the carefully drawn maps that crumpled underneath them.

It was unthinkable that she would never again see Will smile, never hear him laugh or hear his joking voice. She had never realized how much Will had meant to her and now he was gone. She felt the world dissolve around her as she closed her eyes and let her grief overwhelm her.

* * *

Morgarath, Lord of Night and Rain, looked at the combination of men and Wargals in front of him and smiled, a sharp-toothed grin that caused some of his men to tremble.

His bridge may have been destroyed, but Morgarath still had no doubt about whom the victor would be. Duncan and his army were sitting neatly where he wanted them, and he would crush them between his main army and the Skandian mercenaries that were currently marching through Thorntree Forest.

Slowly, deliberately, Morgarath beckoned to his commanders. "Give the order to advance."

"CHARGE." The command echoed through the army like a wave as each of the men and Wargals took up the shout and ran forward with only bloodlust in mind.

On the other side of the battlefield, King Duncan watched as Morgarath's army charged towards them. "Get ready, here they come." There was no need for him to yell. His men could clearly hear him, waiting silently as they were. Looking grimly towards the approaching army, Duncan drew his longsword and calmly started giving orders to Sir David and his other commanders. No matter what Morgarath did, they would be ready.

* * *

**A/N**

**Thanks everyone for reading this chapter! Again, this chapter is identical to the normal version in the second half, but I hope you like how I changed Horace's reaction!**

**I know I promised a bonus chapter, and it is coming... Just not right now as I'm having one of those 'real-life-is-conspiring-to-kill-me-slowly-and-painfully' moments... I had two, count them, two!, tests today, one of which I am sure I've failed... And my silver oakleaf necklace broke! *cries***

**Thank you to my betas, Pendragon.P a s s i o n and Alyss Mainwaring! You guys are really brilliant, and wonderful, and super-fantastic for putting up with me and my shocking last minute update schedule!**

**I love to hear from my readers, so please leave me a review!**

**Ali Ranger51**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Halt walked with his cowl covering his face and his body in shadow as he led a troop of infantrymen through the fens. Suddenly, he growled out a command to the men, ordering them to move faster. It was a risky move, because Halt was sacrificing speed for the safety of his men. The faster the men went through the deadly swamp, the higher the chance of missing one of the path markers and ending up in the swamp, but Halt found that he didn't really care about the risk; he was hunting. Gilan was leading a second troop somewhere off to Halt's left.

Once King Duncan had learned that there would be a force of Skandians attacking his army from the rear, he had held an emergency meeting of the war council. After a long debate, they had decided that a special force of infantrymen would ambush and take out the Skandians before they reached the plains. Most of those present had been skeptical of the plan at first. One of the basic principals of warfare was to never split your forces, but after a lengthy discussion, it had been agreed that the potential benefits outweighed the risks.

The fens were a massive swamp near the south-west coast of Araluen. For the most part, Rangers and Skandians were the only ones who could pass safely through it, mainly because they were the only ones who had any reason to. As Rangers were the kingdom's intelligence force, they were in charge of mapping every inch of Araluen and naturally, this included the places that were normally avoided. Skandians, however, had a much less innocent reason for knowing their way around the fens. They had been sending raiding parties through the deadly swamp for as long as anyone could remember.

Halt thought that it was only natural that two Rangers lead the ambush, and had volunteered himself and Gilan for the task. He had jumped at the chance to get revenge on the people responsible for his apprentice's death. Though the Skandians that had actually killed Will wouldn't be involved in the fight, Halt knew that it would only be a matter of time before he managed to track them down. He had promised himself that. He would not rest until he had avenged Will, no matter what the cost. After the battle in the fens, Halt planned to melt away into the forest and wait with the Skandian wolfships for the crew that had killed Will to make their getaway. He would make sure that they never made it onto their ship.

Smiling grimly, Halt waved the men into position as he nocked an arrow and disappeared into the trees. Now that they had reached the designated ambush point, he was no longer needed to direct the men. The commanders would do that, and he and Gilan would be free to shoot at whoever they thought would look better with an arrow sticking out of their chest. _Which,_ Halt thought, _when you considered the giant hulking forms of Skandians, was the entire lot of them._ He had never had much patience for the sea-going pirates and recent events had erased any tolerance that he might have once had for them.

"They shouldn't be too far away now, Halt. We should be able to hear them soon, and with any luck, they'll walk right into the ambush. The ground here is good and solid, so our men shouldn't have any problems." Gilan had materialized seemingly out of thin air to stand beside Halt, and though his voice was calm and steady he was shifting his weight from foot to foot anxiously, and he kept glancing towards the south to where the approaching army would appear.

Halt merely grunted in reply. He had noticed Gilan's out of character behavior, but had decided that there was nothing that he could do about it. Gilan was dealing with Will's death in his own way and Halt wouldn't interfere, so long as Gilan was able to keep his head when it was needed. Gilan would fight when the time came and Halt would make sure that his former apprentice didn't lose control or make any decision that could put him in danger. Halt would not lose another apprentice, no matter the cost.

No longer than an hour later, a scout warned the waiting men that the approaching Skandians were ten minutes from the ambush site. Gilan, with a nod to the older ranger, left and took up his own position on the north side to await the arrival of their targets.

Halt watched him go, and keeping one eye on Gilan, he turned to the east and waited for the pirates to come into view. He would be aiming for those in charge, and even though the wolfship captains had no recognizable insignia or any other display of rank, they would be easy to find. They would be the ones yelling the loudest.

With a roar, the assembled men ran out of the trees and charged towards the shocked Skandians just as they emerged into the arranged clearing. Halt watched and before the Skandians could form an effective shield wall, he had already identified four of their leaders. Within ten seconds, he had three arrows in the air and flying towards them. He had no need to worry about the fourth, as he trusted that Gilan would take care of him. As he began to scan the men again, he saw one of Gilan's arrows strike the man in the neck and he smiled in grim satisfaction.

The Skandians were putting up a good fight, but they were unprepared for a battle in the fens. Even though the ground here was a bit more firm than in the rest of the swamp, it was still less than ideal, and the Skandians were having problems keeping their footing. They were used to fighting in open ground and around buildings, not amongst trees and various swamp plants.

* * *

As the initial shock of the ambush wore off, Gilan shot the rest of his arrows into a group of Skandians that were fighting closest to him and he drew his sword and entered the fight on foot. He fought ferociously and cut down any Skandian who happened to have the misfortune to get in his way. There was no practiced grace in his movements, only calm, blank determination to kill as many Skandians as he could.

Gilan had managed to force his way into the centre of the fight when a particularly brave Skandian came hurtling towards right side, and he was forced to step back hurriedly to avoid the massive battleaxe that was suddenly all too close. Unfortunately, in stepping back, he tripped over the body of a fallen Skandian and fell to the ground with a crash.

Gilan was all of a sudden uncomfortably aware of the roaring of battle around him, the blood drenching his jerkin, and of his lack of armor. He had thought that the heavy armor that knights normally wore would be too cumbersome in the fens, so he had left it behind. He was mentally kicking himself for it now.

In a berserker rage, the Skandian gave an animalistic roar of triumph as he lifted his battleaxe above his head to deliver what would surely be a killing blow.

* * *

Halt had nearly emptied his second quiver when he saw that Gilan had abandoned his longbow and joined the battle with his sword. Halt knew that he would be next to useless against the Skandians with only his knives and even though he knew how to use a sword, he was no master like Gilan.

Instead, he contented himself with shooting any of the Skandians that got too close to Gilan for his liking; he didn't think that the younger Ranger had even noticed. He was too busy thinking about hacking and slashing any Skandian that he could reach, his mind fogged with grief. He wasn't even watching what was going on around him, which was a very bad thing in a close-quarters battle like this.

The battle was nearly over and the Skandians forces were almost annihilated. The only ones still fighting were near Gilan, and they were desperate. They had seen their comrades fall and those that were left were well aware that they were going to lose, and so in true Skandian style they had decided to take out as many of the Araluans as possible. Many of them had entered a berserker rage, and seemed not to notice the many cuts and injuries that they had acquired.

As Halt watched, he saw a berserker cut down four of the men on Gilan's right and then launch himself at Gilan. With horror, he watched as Gilan fell to the ground and he saw the Skandian raise his axe to strike. _No,_ thought Halt. _I will not lose Gilan too. _In a blur of speed and movement, he sent two arrows towards the man. They struck their target directly in the heart, each arrow less an inch apart. The man was dead before he could even realize what had hit him.

* * *

Gilan watched in a stunned silence as two arrows struck his attacker in the chest and he realized dimly that Halt must have shot the man. He breathed a silent word of thanks to the older Ranger before he realized that he was still in danger. The Skandian fell forward with a large thump, and Gilan only just managed to roll out of the way before he sprang to his feet and snatched up his sword from the ground

Taking a deep breath and a moment to look around, Gilan noticed that the fight was almost over. There were few Skandians left fighting.

Glancing at the corpses that littered the ground, Gilan was relived to find that most of the dead were Skandian. As he watched, some well-placed arrows took out the last fighters, and he saw Halt slowly picking his way towards him. "Gilan!"

"Yes, Halt?" As soon as the words left his mouth, Gilan realized how tired he was. Shaking his head slightly to keep himself alert, he moved to see what Halt wanted. There was more to do after all. They still needed to make it back to the plains, and most likely, they would be needed to fight there as well.

"I'm going to continue onwards to find the Skandian ships. I need you to lead the men back. Take the shields and those ridiculous helmets from the Skandians, and make sure that everyone who is well enough to fight has one." Seeing the puzzled expression on Gilan's face, Halt decided that more explanation was needed. "Morgarath will be expecting to see Skandians attack us from the rear and if the men put on the shields and helmets then they could pass as Skandians. If Duncan were to pretend to fight you, then Morgarath wouldn't realize that the attack was false which leaves Duncan free to launch a surprise attack, say, with the cavalry. He could have the army split down the middle leaving a clear line of passage for the cavalry to get to the Wargals."

Gilan was looking at his former mentor with awe. "Halt, that's genius! Morgarath will have no idea what hit him!" He wondered silently how long it had taken Halt to think up this plan, and he had a sneaking suspicion that Halt had been planning every last detail of his revenge since he had first learned of his apprentice's murder.

"You just need to find some way to alert the King that the 'Skandians' aren't a real threat," Halt continued, "but I trust that you can figure something out?" The older Ranger raised his eyebrow, and his tone was one Gilan remembered from long nights discussing strategy with the man when he had been an apprentice.

Gilan nodded quickly to Halt. An idea was already forming in his head. "Ok. Good luck with the ships." As Gilan spoke, Halt was already turning and moving away from the ambush site.

Gilan didn't need to ask why Halt wanted to go to the wolfships. He knew. He just wished that he could have gone too. Gilan would have loved to get his hands on the men that killed Will, but he knew that he was needed to lead the men back to the Plains, and then he would be needed to fight there. Duty came first, and while his most pressing duty was to the kingdom, Halt's was to his fallen apprentice.

* * *

**A/N**

**So, what did you think of this chapter? It's not much different from the Normal Version, or even from the original, but this chapter was always one of my favourites to write, it just seemed to go from my head to the computer with a minimal amount of fuss. Normally I spend hours writing a chapter and then twice as long deciding that I didn't like it at all and re-writing it...**

**Please review, I hope you liked the chapter, and thanks to my beta Alyss Mainwaring for being epic and leaving funny little comments in all the right spots. **

**Ali Ranger51**


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Erak was facing a dilemma. He had agreed to fight for Morgarath, and that meant that he was honor bound to follow through. On the other hand, he and his men hadn't been paid yet. Erak had been skeptical of the plan from the beginning. In his opinion, fancy plans such as this were unreliable; take out one element and the whole thing would come collapsing down around your ears.

After the young Ranger had sabotaged the bridge, Erak had still been willing to fight for Morgarath, as there had still been a good chance that they would win and get a reasonable amount of booty. After meeting with Morgarath however, Erak wasn't so sure. They were still just as likely to win, but now he doubted that Morgarath would let him and his crew leave with anything good, or even with anything at all. There was no point putting his men at risk if they wouldn't gain anything from it.

For the past couple of days Erak and his men had been marching towards the Plains of Uthal, and he expected to arrive sometime in the next hour. When they reached the battleground, Erak would make the final decision on whether or not he and his men would fight.

"Erak."

"Yes, Svengal?" Erak had noticed that his second in command had been sneaking sidelong glances at him for the past half an hour. It seemed that he had finally decided to speak.

"We're going to leave, aren't we?" Blunt and straight to the point. Skandians weren't the type of people to beat around the bush, especially when it involved money.

Erak looked his countryman in the eyes before replying. "Probably, Svengal. I wouldn't trust Morgarath any further than I could throw him, even though I would enjoy seeing just how far that might be."

Svengal chuckled. He would enjoy seeing how far the big Jarl could throw the arrogant 'Lord' as well. The man had given him the creeps when they had met with him to hand over the boy. For the boy's sake, he hoped that Morgarath would be one of those killed in the up-coming battle; Svengal had no doubt of the torture that awaited the young Ranger Apprentice were Morgarath to survive.

* * *

"Skandians! Skandians attacking from the rear!" Calmly, King Duncan turned to address the scout. It would do no good to let the men see his shock at the words now rippling through the Araluan forces.

If there were Skandians coming out of Thorntree, then undoubtedly Halt and his men had been defeated. Duncan felt his heart give a sharp jolt at the thought of his old friend. Knowing the grim Ranger as he did, Duncan was sure that Halt would have died in the process; He never would have given up, not when he knew how much was relying on the Skandians being defeated.

Gesturing to his men to be patient, Duncan turned to study the group that had emerged from the tree cover. Perhaps the scout was wrong. Perhaps their men had just been mistaken for Skandians, after all, only the senior war council had known of the planned ambush in Thorntree.

Even from his position in the center of the army, Duncan found that he could make out the circular shields and horned helmets of the Skandians. Even the typical arrowhead formation that the Skandians were moving in gave testament to their identity.

As he studied them further, Duncan realized that there were only around 150 of them. It wasn't as bad as it could have been. If only 150 Skandians – 5 wolfship crews – were still alive, that meant that Halt and Gilan had managed to take out around half of them. Still, 150 Skandians could do a lot of damage. Heck, a mere 20 Skandians was enough to do a fair amount of damage.

Suddenly, there was movement at the edge of the forest, about 500 meters below where the Skandians had emerged. A lone rider burst from the shadows of the trees and his long green cloak marked him unmistakably as a Ranger. Anxiously, Duncan watched to see if another rider would appear and he felt his stomach sink when there was no more movement from the foreboding looking forest. The Ranger was a couple hundred meters from the trees before the Skandians spotted him, and some of them gave chase, scattering wildly after the horseman. They didn't have a chance though; the Ranger horse easily outstripped them, and the pursuing Skandians soon dropped back into the arrowhead formation as if they had never left.

"Send some men out to receive the Ranger. I want him brought directly to me." The scout turned quickly and ran back towards the rear of the army to deliver the King's orders.

In almost no time at all, Duncan could make out an exhausted looking Gilan riding through the mess of men to reach him.

"Quick, Gilan, we don't have much time. What happened? Did any of our men survive?" To Duncan's complete surprise the young Ranger merely grinned at his words and the King could only stand in stunned silence as Gilan explained what had happened in the Fens. He recovered quickly though and, making a split second decision, he turned and addressed Sir David. "Did you manage to catch all that? Can it be done?"

"Of course, Sir. It's a brilliant plan. If we don't part the men until the very last minute, then it's possible that Morgarath won't even see the cavalry until it's too late. Look at him now your majesty; he's brining all of his men forward to attack. He thinks to trap us between his Wargals and the Skandians, but since the 'Skandians' aren't a real threat, he is leaving his army completely exposed to any counterattacks that we might launch. We still have some archers and a smaller reserve cavalry unit waiting in the trees to the south, and if we were to attack him from the side…" Sir David trailed off and looked at his King and long time friend expectantly, waiting for the command to move.

Duncan grasped the concept immediately, seeing the movements and possible consequences of the troops in his mind's eye. The effects for Morgarath and his men would be devastating. "Do it." With a quick nod of acknowledgement to both Duncan and his son, the commander left to set the trap into motion.

* * *

"Lord Morgarath, the Skandians have emerged from the Fens. They are about to engage Duncan's army." Morgarath smiled. Things were going according to plan. He didn't need the bridge after all. Duncan would still be crushed, and Araluen would be his.

"Give the order. I want all units to charge." The man bowed low before he left, shouting orders and waving his fist threateningly at both men and Wargals as he went.

The Lord of Night and Rain watched as the Skandians made contact with the rear of Duncan's army with a satisfying crash, and Duncan's men turned haphazardly to face the new threat. The panicked sounds of the soldiers echoed though the air and when they realized that Morgarath's wargals were also advancing on them, the panic turned to pure chaos.

Right then, when victory was so close it was almost tangible, things started to go wrong for Morgarath. All of a sudden, Duncan's army turned as one coordinated unit to face the Wargals. The Skandian attack on the rear just melted away. It was as if it hadn't been there at all.

With a sudden burst of rage, Morgarath realized that Duncan had pulled off the impossible and stolen victory right out from under his nose. There had never been any Skandians. Someone must have defeated Horth and his men in the Fens… Halt. It had to have been. There was no one else who could have pulled off the maneuver.

As Morgarath fumed at Halt, the situation around him continued to deteriorate. The pounding of hooves drummed through the air. Cavalry. At the call of a bugle, Duncan's men split down the middle and heavy warhorses charged into his Wargals. He felt a wave of panic pass through his mind link to the ranks of his beastly army and even as he forced it down, a barrage of arrows struck his army in the left flank. Archers had emerged from the trees and were firing volley after volley into his men, devastating the ranks.

More cavalry quickly followed the appearance of the archers, and Morgarath was fast realizing that the battle was lost. "Keep fighting! Anyone who runs will die; I will hunt them down, cut their throats and leave their bodies for the crows!" With that declaration, Morgarath turned his white charger towards the Mountains of Night and Rain and fled the battlefield.

* * *

Erak and his crew had made it into the Fens without much trouble. The Wargals had ignored their progress across the battlefield after he and his men had made mincemeat of any of the beasts stupid enough to get in their way. Now, with any luck, he wouldn't come across Horth, the Oberjarl's son, or any of his men who were involved in the attack from the Fens.

It had taken him a lot longer to traverse back through the Fens to the ships than it had on the way in. They had entered a long way south from where he had the first time and he wasn't very familiar with the paths in this part. He took a wrong turn more than once, and he had even had to have Svengal pull him out of the mud when he had missed a path marker and walked straight into a sinkhole.

It wouldn't be too long now before they reached the bay where they had anchored the ships. Erak had been smelling salt in the air for the past quarter of an hour. Soon he and his men would be out on the open ocean where they belonged and helping themselves to a large flagon of ale. His men knew it too. They had stopped cursing and complaining about the Fens, and Morgarath, and the whole of Araluen in general.

However, Erak knew that the peace wouldn't last. His men would start complaining the second they cast off. They would complain about not being able to fight, about getting no profit, and about not sticking their battleaxes into Morgarath while they had the chance. Erak couldn't blame them though. He would probably be complaining as well. This entire campaign had been an unmitigated disaster and he would be glad when it was behind them.

* * *

**A/N**

**Ok, here is CH 7! Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter and special thanks to those that sent me messages politely asking me to get a move on and get the next chapter out. This chapter is rather short, so I'll try and make the next one longer to make up for it, and for my delay in updating. (CH8 involves a destructive mourning Halt, which will be fun. *evil grin*)**

**I will try to keep updating as regularly as possible, and get ahead on my pre-written chapters, but I don't know how successful I'll be. My councilor says that I'm a bit depressed because I have no drive to do anything, and I haven't for a while. I want to update/do homework/study/meet up with friends, but I just can't be bothered... I finally made myself see a councilor though, so I hope that I'll get better at following through with things. Monday is my updating target and I do better when I have deadlines. **

**(Anyway, moving on from my random urge to share things with the internet...)**

**Thank you for reading this chapter and I hope that you won't give up on this story! I have tons of story ideas all noted down in my notebook, I just need to get the drive (and the time) to write them. The planning for this story is nearly 20 pages, and it's only half planned... I'm guessing this story will be around 60k+ words, at least. And that's not counting the normal version... It's on my bucket list to write more than 300k words for FFN…**

**Thanks to my beta Alyss Mainwaring!**

**Ali Ranger51**


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Halt made it to the small cove around mid-afternoon and was in a bad mood. He had nothing to do until the Skandians that had murdered his apprentice walked into his ambush. Adding to his rather formidable temper was the fact that he had left his food, coffee and flint stone back with Abelard on the other side of the fens. He had decided that the two horses would only slow them down because of the risky footing in the fens, so they had left them in a clearing out of sight of the main army before the battle with the Skandians.

Halt hoped that Gilan would make sure that Abelard was looked after and that nothing unexpected had thrown victory back in Morgarath's favor. Halt trusted Gilan with his life, and he shouldn't have encountered any problems getting back and implementing the plan, but he couldn't help worrying about his former apprentice. _What if he lost Gilan too? _

Resolutely, Halt pushed away the fear and looked down at the massive forms of the wolfships below him. The ships were bobbing up and down in the tide and they could be heard creaking and groaning upon the crashing waves. Halt snorted at the oversized figureheads and looking at the ships now, he was struck with a sudden flash of malicious inspiration.

Ships were rather breakable when left at port, especially when they were unattended. A wicked grin crossed his face; he had never liked ships. They smelled like tar, salt and sweat, and they lurched alarmingly every time they rode over a wave. Wolfships were the worst.

The Ranger glanced wistfully back in the direction of the fens and cursed himself loudly for his thoughtlessness in leaving his pack behind. He would have loved nothing more than to set the whole fleet ablaze, but without his flint that would be almost impossible to do, even if he could spare the time. Halt sighed. He would just have to settle for a little mindless destruction and sabotage. After all, he had to do _something_ until the Skandians arrived, and Halt doubted that they would be here for another few days at least. With a strange glint in his eyes and an uncharacteristic smile on his face, Halt set off in the direction of the closest ship.

* * *

Halt grunted as he pulled the last board free and looked around at the ship he was currently decimating. He had been using his saxe to split crucial boards, cut rigging and sails, and pry free rudders. Oars were floating in the water around the vessels and Halt had helped himself to the stores of dried food and the strong spirits that Skandians favored. What he hadn't wanted had been carelessly tossed overboard.

It had taken him a few hours and the sun was starting to set but he had managed to put four of the ships out of action, despite that fact that he was swaying from something more than just the rolling of the tide. Normally, Halt wouldn't have dared to drink on a mission, but in this situation, he felt that there were some extenuating circumstances. It wasn't everyday that one lost an apprentice after all.

As Halt moved to disembark, he heard a shout of surprise from the fens, and he turned towards the trees, before freezing in shock. Skandians were here! Halt hadn't expected the crew that had murdered his apprentice to arrive for another few days, but this rather disorganized group had to be them; to his knowledge, there were no other wolfship crews left after the battle in the fens, and even if a crew had managed to escape, they would have already left. This crew, the crew that had killed Will, must have deserted Morgarath and headed straight for the boats.

Halt cursed as he crouched down below the railing, trying to think past the fog in his mind provided by the liquor. A large part of him was calling for bloodlust on behalf of Will, and only common sense kept him rooted to the spot. If he charged the Skandians now, as he wanted to, he would surely die.

Halt pressed the heel of his palm into his head as he tried to come up with a plan. If only he had noticed the Skandians before stupidly outlining his profile against the skyline as he went to disembark! He should have noticed them before, but he had been too drunk, too focused on his destruction of the ships, too sure in his assumption that the crew would have stayed to fight with Morgarath.

In order to take out the crew, he had been relying heavily on the element of surprise and the fact that he would be under a covered position from which to shoot. Now though, he was nothing but a sitting duck because of a single assumption, a destructive desire born of grief, and an urge to drown his sorrows with spirits.

His element of surprise was gone and there was nowhere for him to retreat to, only having the tide against his back. There was nothing for it. He was going to have to fight his way out.

Decision made, Halt pulled his bowstring out of an inner pocket of his jerkin and shakily strung his bow, being careful to stay below the skyline provided by the railing of the ship. Skandian wolfships were messy things, covered in sand, salt, mud and tar, and to protect his bowstring from the harmful grit he had left the bow sitting unstrung on the deck. Halt silently breathed a prayer of thanks for that little bit of foresight. If he had left the bow sitting strung on the deck of the ship, it would have picked up an untold amount of grime and dirt, which could have affected his shots. The time lost stringing the longbow was a small price to pay for accurate shots.

Taking a deep breath, Halt fitted an arrow to the string and moved to the bow of the ship, thinking that they Skandians would expect him to stay where they had first spotted him. It wasn't much of an advantage, but at this point, he would take what he could get. He listened for a moment to the movement of the crew against the rocky beach of the cove before he rapidly stood and fired at the closest Skandian.

The reaction of the crew was almost instantaneous. As soon as they saw the bow, the men dove for the sparse cover that littered the beach. Had Halt been sober, the quick movements of the crew wouldn't have been enough to save the man he had targeted, but Halt's drunkenness caused the arrow to fly wide by over a foot.

Watching their movements and the shaky flight of his arrow, Halt swore again. The men were obviously experienced fighting against archers, and while Halt had the high ground he had lost the element of surprise and was outnumbered nearly thirty to one. He was also swaying slightly and his vision was slightly blurred. _If anything can go wrong, it will._ The old proverb was one that he had repeated often to Will, and it was suddenly at the forefront of his mind, as if laughing at the way all of his mistakes had conspired against him, leaving him in this grim battle for vengeance that would likely end in his death.

_At least,_ Halt thought, _If I die I could tell Will that I'm sorry that I couldn't protect him._

As the smiling face of his apprentice swam before his eyes, Halt felt his resolve strengthen and adrenalin flow through his veins, sobering him.

He sighted on the closest Skandian, drew, and released the arrow, letting his instinct guide the shot, knowing that he couldn't fully trust his senses right now. To Halt's great relief, the Skandian he had targeted fell to the ground and stilled with the arrow in his chest. Halt nocked another arrow and sighted on another Skandian.

Just as he was about to draw, Halt spotted movement out of the corner of his eye. One of the Skandians was attempting to run subtly from cover to cover off to his right, slowly 'sneaking' towards his position at the bow of the ship. Halt continued to watch him out of the corner of his eye as he kept his main focus on the targets directly in front of him. The lone Skandian was armed only with a battleaxe, and while the man could throw it, he had quite a way to come before he got close enough to be any danger to Halt.

Suddenly, in response to an unseen signal the Skandians suddenly surged forwards heading for the Ranger in a direct assault. The Skandians had presumed from Halt's previous slow and inaccurate shooting that he was only an average archer, not noticing his characteristic Ranger cloak in the fading twilight. However, Halt wasn't an ordinary archer. Even with the liquor flowing through his veins and the unstable platform beneath his feet, he could still easily outshoot any ordinary archer.

_An ordinary archer practices until they get it right. A Ranger practices until they never get it wrong... _

…Even when they were drunk, almost mad with grief, and facing seemingly insurmountable odds.

Halt took a deep breath and sent three deadly black shafted arrows towards the leading Skandians in a blur of speed, instincts guiding his aim.

As the third arrow left the string, there was a horrifying snap and Halt felt a sudden flash of hot pain across his right cheek. The tip of his bow had splintered and snapped.

Unnoticed by Halt, the bow had picked up a lot of sand and tar as it had lain on the ground where he had carelessly left it as he had moved from ship to ship. A large clump of sand had lodged in the small grove where the string rested at the tip of the longbow. As Halt has shakily strung the bow as he was awkwardly crouching behind the railing, he had failed to make sure that the sting was sitting securely in its grove. When he had begun shooting, the sand had caused the string to move further out of position with each shot, until it had had moved out of its grove completely. The massive weight of the draw had caused the bow had split, right along the grain.

Halt stared at the useless bow, dumbfounded. _If anything can go wrong, it will. _In the second time in as many minutes, Halt found that he had forgotten the proverb. He also realized that he had just lost the only advantages that he had had. He was now out-numbered, cornered and virtually weaponless.

He felt an increasing sense of animalistic panic as he watched the Skandians surge closer. Halt clutched his broken longbow as if it was a quarterstaff, ignoring the fact that to continue his attack on the Skandians now would be tantamount to suicide. He had no other options. He would avenge Will, even if it killed him.

With only the smallest flash of guilt for throwing away his life so recklessly, Halt turned and vaulted over the right side of the ship, landing thigh deep in water. He didn't hesitate. He sighted on the Skandian that was directing the men, the Jarl that had killed his apprentice, and ran out of the water, directly towards his target.

It was only when Halt saw a flicker of movement to his right that he realized that he had made a potentially deadly mistake. He spun quickly to the side as a large rock flew through the space that his head had occupied a split second before; he had forgotten about the lone Skandian.

Halt, his cloak flaring out behind him, leaned into a fighting stance and swung his longbow like a quarterstaff at his attacker. The trusty bow connected solidly with the man's lower ribs, before shattering with a loud crack.

As the sea pirate was knocked back, Halt drew his saxe and throwing knife, before advancing on the man that was delaying his revenge on the approaching Jarl. With a grim smile, the Ranger faced his opponent; it didn't matter that the Skandian crew had surrounded him, leaving him with no escape. Halt knew that he was going to die, but he wasn't going down without one hell of a fight, and he would make damn sure that he took the murdering Jarl with him.

* * *

To the approaching Erak, the scene was eerily reminiscent of a few days earlier with the young apprentice. The man was armed only with a pair of small knives, and the weapons would be next to useless against Svengal's battleaxe. The Jarl quickly surveyed the scene on the beach behind him before gesturing to his men to head towards _Wolfwind. _

By a stroke of bad luck, _Wolfwind_ was one of the few ships that Halt had left so far untouched. Erak shouted to the men to begin boarding the ship and to ready her to cast off.

Suddenly, the Ranger froze from where he had been about to launch himself at his second in command, and Erak, acting on instinct, threw himself to the ground. He couldn't have said why he had done it, but the movement had almost certainly saved his life. Erak heard the saxe as it hissed dangerously past his left ear and he felt something sharp collide with his left upper arm. The smaller throwing knife had caught Erak as he had dropped and had become deeply lodged in his bicep. He gave a grunt of pain as Svengal swung his battleaxe at his now unarmed opponent with a roar of rage for his injured Jarl.

The Ranger was too quick though; the light-footed man had ducked under the deadly weapon and was now grappling with Svengal, attempting to pull the battleaxe from the pirate's iron grip.

Despite himself, Erak felt a grudging respect for the man. Unarmed and surrounded the Ranger was still fighting. With a resounding thud, Svengal's fist collided with the stout man's temple, knocking him to the rocky ground, unconscious.

As Svengal raised his weapon to finish the man off, Erak raised his hand and called to his second in command to stop. "I won't let you leave such a worth opponent to Wander, Svengal," he said, gesturing to the Ranger.

Skandian's believed that if you died without a weapon in your hand you would be forever cursed to wander the earth, never being able to move on. "We could always place that knife of his back in his hand," Svengal smirked, gesturing with his battleaxe towards the saxe that lay a way off in the sand.

Erak however, shook his head. They had nothing to gain from killing the Ranger that lay defenseless at his feet. The battle on the plains was likely over now; nothing that the man could do when he regained consciousness would cause either him or his countrymen any harm.

Decision made, Erak turned and addressed his men. "Get everyone to the ship and cast off. We're getting out of this god damned country." A scattering of cheers sounded around the beach at his words.

The Jarl watched with hardened eyes as his men carried the bodies of their fallen crewmates onto _Wolfwind. _He didn't know who the Ranger was, or why he had been waiting at the cove, but Erak suspected that he had been there because of the boy, Will.

It did not take long to get all the men onboard _Wolfwind _and to cast off. As the wolfship slowly drifted away from the shore, Erak pushed off the man who was trying to tend to the wound in his arm and turned back to face the beach. His eyes focused the ghostly figure in the grey and green cloak lying prone on the rocks at the edge of the fens and shivered. He didn't know exactly what the Ranger wanted, but he knew deep in his gut that the man would not rest until he got it.

* * *

**A/N**

**Hope you like the chapter! This is one of my favourites so far, and it was an absolute joy to write! **

**Thank you to my beta, Alyss Mainwaring, and thanks to everyone who has reviewed. **

**Ali Ranger51**


	9. Chapter 9: Aftermath

**Chapter 9** **– Aftermath**

Gilan swore repeatedly as he and Blaze slowly made their way to the edge of the Fens, the smell of salt hanging in the air. He was exhausted, but the day was nearly over. There was only one thing left for him to do.

After checking to make sure that everything was in place for the Araluens to strike back at Morgarath following Halt's 'Skandian' ruse, Gilan had gathered both Abelard and Blaze and with nothing more than a nod to Crowley, headed back into the Fens. Both he and Crowley knew that the odds of Halt making it back by himself were nearly insurmountable.

But Gilan wasn't going to lie, even to himself; Halt might be a well-known hero, but he was still only a man. Even Rangers had a breaking point, and Gilan was smart enough to recognize that Halt had reached his. Even though his old mentor was in pieces, Gilan hoped that they would be _live _pieces.

Skandians were deadly enemies, after all, and Halt was planning on taking out those responsible for Will's death. He hadn't said so outright, but Gilan knew that those thoughts of revenge were all that was stopping Halt from following his lost apprentice into the abyss. Gilan hoped that he arrived in time to save Halt from himself.

Gilan gaped as they emerged onto the beach, sand and pebbles crunching beneath his boots as he dismounted Blaze. The shore was a mess of broken wood and various supplies, obviously thrown from the wrecked Wolfships that he could see floating drunkenly on the outgoing tide. Even though Gilan had known Halt nearly his entire life, he was still constantly surprised by the amount of chaos that Halt could cause in a short amount of time, whether it was by uncovering damaging information, firing a rebellion, or simply destroying anything he set his sights on.

Lost in his thoughts as he was, Gilan didn't immediately notice the figure lying immobile on the sand a short distance away in the fading half-light of the approaching night. What he did notice, however, was Halt's saxe knife, lying discarded on the pebbles. The Ranger weapon was unmistakeable, and the sight of it sent a sharp sense off terror through his veins.

"Halt," he called in panic, his desperate shout going unanswered as it echoed across the waves.

The Ranger spotted what he was looking for almost immediately, and he began sprinting towards the prone figure, spraying sand in his wake. As he knelt down beside his mentor, Gilan's hands shook as he reached out and turned Halt onto his back, noticing dried blood on Halt's head and the surrounding sand as he did so.

_Please don't be dead; please don't be dead,_ Gilan thought, the words chasing themselves around inside his head as he tried to find a pulse at his former mentor's neck. He panicked for a moment, when he couldn't find anything, but after a moment more of frantic searching Gilan was able to locate a pulse.

It was rapid, and a little too weak for his liking, but it was there, and the tension left his body nearly instantly as Gilan collapsed to lie over the deathly still figure, breathing a silent prayer of thanks to whoever it was out there that was watching over Halt.

Abruptly, the Ranger breathed in and recognized the distinctive, and powerful, aroma of the strong spirits that Skandians favoured. Halt had been drinking! Not only had Halt obviously taken on an entire Wolfship crew and lived to tell about it, but he had done so drunk!

Shaking his head at the old grizzled Ranger's unbelievable luck, Gilan sat up, before leaning over and evaluating Halt's head wound. After deciding that while the wound did indeed look serious, it was nothing that couldn't be fixed by a few stitches back at camp. He could do them now of course, but the sun had just set and the dim light provided by the moon was not the best to preform medical procedures on an irritable, likely to be hung-over and distraught Halt.

With a sharp whistle, Gilan called his ever faithful Blaze, who had been waiting patiently nearby, and bent down and draped Halt's arm over his shoulder. Grunting slightly from the perhaps not so surprising dead weight, Gilan lifted Halt onto Blaze's back, the old Ranger not stirring in the slightest. With a grateful pat to Blaze, the Ranger and pony walked side by side back into the Fens.

* * *

The day after the battle was eerily bleak and crows circled slowly over the dead and wounded, while other scavengers roamed the battleground.

The fighting was finally over. It had taken a long time and many lives for Duncan's army to subdue the remaining wargals. As Duncan walked through the battlefield, he stopped frequently to give aid to the wounded and help cover and remove the bodies of the dead. He was weary and aching and had his own small collection of cuts and bruises, but he knew that he couldn't rest. Many good men had died here today and, as King, Duncan felt that his men needed to see him doing his part to help, that he valued every single life that has been lost.

"What on earth did you think that you were doing, Horace? You're just an apprentice! You should have stayed with Reece! The poor man's been going frantic looking for you. He would have blamed himself if you had died, you foolish boy! Did you even think of that?"

Duncan recognized the sharp, carrying, voice instantly, and he immediately began to scan the surrounding area to locate the speaker, Sir Rodney, of Redmont. Making a split second decision, Duncan decided to see what had got his old friend so riled up. As he got closer, Duncan realized that the Battlemaster had been rebuking a boy who looked no older than sixteen.

The King watched the confrontation for a short moment before deciding to interfere when Rodney grabbed the young apprentice by the neck of his chain mail and shaking the boy. Duncan knew that Rodney almost never manhandled the boys under his charge, so for him to do so now the man must be extremely aggravated. "What's going on here?"

Rodney jerked, suddenly realizing that they had a spectator, and released Horace, giving him a harsh shove as he turned to face the King. The apprentice shot an angry look at the Battlemaster before turning and acknowledging Duncan.

Duncan was surprised to recognize a flash of bitterness in the eyes of the boy when he noticed the Royal-Purple Golden Eagle crest on his jerkin that marked him as King.

Sending a quick nod of greeting towards King Duncan, Rodney placed a hand on Horace's shoulder, unsure whether the gesture was to reassure the boy, or to calm himself after his recent outburst at Horace's recent bout of recklessness. The Battlemaster took in Duncan's battle weary and exhausted appearance and bloody armor with a glance, before introducing the apprentice beside him. "This is Horace Altman, my Lord. He's a first year apprentice from Redmount."

Giving Horace a small push, he tried to force the boy into a bow, but Horace stubbornly resisted, causing the old Battlemaster to frown. Normally Horace was a stickler for protocol but Rodney just supposed that the young man was just still shaken from the battle. Wars were never the glorious places depicted in bard's tales and children's stories, and often apprentices found the stark reality of the 'kill or be killed' mentality startling.

Duncan had noticed that the apprentice had refused to bow, but he had no patience to force the niceties of etiquette on a good day, let alone when he was exhausted to the bone. As he rubbed his eyes wearily, it occurred to him that it was probably his duty to say something reassuring to the boy. It was, after all, due to Duncan's decisions that Horace had been part of the battle in the first place.

Normally, first year apprentices wouldn't have been allowed anywhere near a war, but Duncan had known that this would be a close fight and that a few extra trained men could very well mean the difference between victory and defeat. Against his better judgment, he had ordered instructors such as Rodney to allow all their trainees to fight.

After taking a moment to think, Duncan addressed the young apprentice. "I know that this must have been a horrible experience for you, Horace, and I will understand if you want to cease your apprenticeship, but just remember that things will start to look up now. The war is over and with any luck Morgarath has been beaten for good. Soon life will go back to normal and you will be back with your family and friends in no time."

Duncan had expected his words to have a reassuring effect on Horace. He expected him to smile and nod and say, "I guess you're right, Sir." What he did not expect was for Horace to react as strongly as he did.

The boy flinched violently, before looking Duncan straight in the eyes, his whole body tense. "I suppose that it's easy for you to say that everything is going to be alright, sir, your daughter is still alive; my best friend isn't." The venomous words left Horace's mouth in an angry rush, and before he could stop and think he stepped forward with a jerky lunging motion, swinging his fist wildly towards Duncan's head. Both Duncan and Sir Rodney were too stunned by the unexpected attack to do anything to prevent it, and Horace's fist collided with Duncan's jaw with a solid _'thud'_, knocking him backwards.

Rodney immediately tried to grab his enraged apprentice, but Horace dodged and ran, distraught, ignoring the threats that Rodney was shouting at his rapidly retreating back.

Duncan, one hand rubbing is aching jaw, was shocked, and despite his exhaustion tried sluggishly to understand what had just happened. Obviously, he had just been punched in the face by the now fleeing battleschool apprentice, but he couldn't understand how that turn of events had come about.

He silenced Rodney's frantic apologies for Horace's actions with a quick wave of the hand not holding his rapidly bruising jaw and asked him what the young apprentice had meant by his best friend being dead; he desperately hoped that none of the apprentices had been killed in the skirmishes, but he knew that was unrealistic.

Rodney looked uncomfortable for a moment before he took a deep breath and spoke, "He was friends with Halt's apprentice, Sir; Will. They grew up together in the Ward."

Neither man spoke as the King contemplated what he had just been told. Not only was the boy an orphan, but his best friend had just died defending Duncan's daughter. No wonder the boy was angry. "Don't punish the boy, Rodney," Duncan began. "He's just suffered a huge loss, and I can't fault the lad for being upset. I am a compassionate man, my friend, and I don't see why this little incident can't stay between us. The last thing I want to do is add an official arrest for attacking his King to the boy's current problems."

Rodney, despite being unbelievably angry at Horace, could understand what Duncan was saying. An arrest would ruin the young apprentice, and Rodney was suddenly grateful that Horace hadn't had his little breakdown in front of any witnesses, as it would have made the whole situation infinitely harder to sweep under the rug.

After receiving a silent nod of acknowledgement from the Battlemaster, Duncan turned and began walking away, feeling an overwhelming sense of guilt as he thought about the young Ranger Apprentice.

As he walked by the remaining bodies that even now, hours after the battle, littered the plains, Duncan made a promise to himself. He would make sure that Will was honored for his bravery and sacrifice, and that he would never be forgotten. Soon, everyone in the kingdom would know his name. Will Braveheart; A brave and honorable name for a boy that had grown up with nothing. Duncan knew it wouldn't be enough, not for Halt and Horace, who had known the boy the best, but it was all he had to offer. He couldn't bring the boy back from the dead, after all.

* * *

Crowley slowly trotted his horse, Cropper, towards the pass. He was leading a group of four senior Rangers in a search for Morgarath. The Lord of Rain and Night had been spotted by a number of Araluans fleeing the battlefield on his notable white charger when the cavalry had attacked, but there was always the chance that he had been killed before he had managed to make it to the pass.

They had been searching the bodies for Morgarath and his senior officers for hours, heedless of the growing darkness, and they were almost ready to drop. Even though the battle itself was over, each member of the corps still had a lot of work to do before they could begin to rest. They would be needed to organize what was left of the troops and to track down any of Morgarath's band that might still be alive. It would be messy, tiring work but it had to be done, and Crowley didn't trust many people outside of his corps to do things right.

Sighing, he raised his right hand above his head and slowly closed it into a fist, giving the order to fall in. They had been riding spread out in a triangle shape which gave them the advantage if they happened to be attacked. They weren't so far from each other that they couldn't help their comrades if they needed it, but they weren't too close as to be caught off guard and surrounded. As his fellow Rangers began to gather around him, Crowley turned to survey the area in front of them.

The darkness was oppressive, and the sky overcast, leaving no moon to guide them; the ghostly shapes of corpses and cries of wounded men echoed through the night. Despite the poor visibility, they would have been hard pressed to miss the pass into the Mountains of Rain and Night. The cliffs were huge and imposing and the pass was the only gap in them for miles. It should have been reassuring to stand at the entrance to the pass and know that the cliffs weren't impenetrable, but it wasn't. The cliffs on either side looked like the mouth of a giant beast that was getting ready to swallow them whole. There were fresh tracks on the ground between their resting place and the entrance to the pass; Crowley dismounted to get a closer look at them.

"It's hard to tell if Morgarath managed to escape or not. There are so many footprints here all layered on top of each other that it is almost impossible to tell who passed here or when. We will need to move into the pass and just hope that we get lucky and find a distinctive hoof print going in the right direction," Crowley said calmly, and, seeing a nod of understanding from each of the other four, he mounted Cropper and rode into the pass.

It was almost midnight by the time they found what they were looking for. It was Daryl of Lansdale fiefwho found the prints and the huge lump of horse dung, and called the others over. Most of the trail through the pass was just a mess of mud and dirt, which blurred all the tracks of individuals until they were indistinguishable, even for a Ranger, but Daryl, who had been riding ahead, had reached a small clearing of packed earth, where the tracks had set almost perfectly in the ground.

Daryl quickly studied some of the tracks, slightly off to the side of the main path. "There are more of the wagon tracks here, Crowley. Whoever was travelling with it must have passed here just over a week ago. It looks like they stopped here for a while, before moving on to Morgarath's castle."

"I don't think the wagon or whatever they were carrying is worth worrying about," said Crowley. "Whatever it was is long gone, and had no part in the battle. We need to find out if Morgarath is indeed heading back to the Mountains of Rain and Night."

After giving his commander a quick nod of acknowledgement, Daryl returned to surveying the main path with the other Rangers.

"Crowley, I've got something here," Alun, Ranger of Whitby Fief, called from the far end of the path. Immediately, the four other Rangers gathered together around the distinctive horse tracks.

After a quick study, they mutually agreed that the tracks were indeed those from Morgarath and his party. The white charger that Morgarath rode was distinctive, not only because of its colour, but because of its size. The horse, an Arridi crossbreed, had a noticeably different gait and hoof-prints than the other horses commonly found in Araluen. For the trained eye of the Rangers, it was highly unlikely that the prints belonged to another horse. It looked as if Morgarath had indeed escaped and was making his way to the mountains.

"What do we do now?" Daryl asked, voicing the question that had been each been thinking. They were all exhausted and wanted to head back at the plains for a well-deserved rest, and besides, now that they knew where Morgarath was, he was no longer an imminent threat.

Crowley thought for a moment, looking around at his weary comrades. "We leave. We turn around and go home. It will be near impossible to continue to track him in the dark like this and there is just no point. We know where he is going, and we can go after him any time we like. Remember, he will be exhausted as well. Nearly all of his men were killed on the plains, so he has no supporters; he won't be launching another attack anytime soon."

Even though they didn't like the thought of turning around and giving up, each of the Rangers knew that what Crowley was saying was sensible, and as one they got back into their saddles and rode away back towards the plains. They didn't know when they would go after Morgarath again but for now they would just watch and wait. There were more pressing matters to attend to. There were bodies to clear, memorials to hold, and criminals to bring to justice.

* * *

Will gasped as Morgarath's castle came into view. It was an ugly looking thing, made from unevenly cut black stone and Will shivered nervously. He knew that he would be thrown into a dungeon cell and locked up until Morgarath arrived and he really didn't want to think about what would happen to him then. He had heard enough terror stories about Morgarath while in the Ward from older children to have a fair idea of the kind of things that awaited him.

Possibly the only chance that Will would have to escape would be when General Owen and his men took him from the cart to his cell and he had no intention of wasting his opportunity.

He had learnt a lot about Owen and his men on the journey here, and he was surprised to find that he rather liked Owen. He was a thief and probably a murderer too, but he had been kind to Will. He made sure that he always had good food and water, and he had checked the wound in his shoulder daily.

Despite all Owen's careful, if not _tender _attentions, the shoulder wound had begun to become infected, and Will had been drifting in and out of consciousness throughout the journey through the Mountains of Night and Rain. The wound was hot and swollen to the touch and had begun oozing puss the night before. Will hoped that meant that the wound was finally getting rid of the infection and starting to heal, be he had to admit that he didn't know the first thing about healing wounds. Halt had meant to start teaching him next year.

Will struggled to contain his sobs as he thought of his mentor, and his entire body shook with the effort, sending new waves of pain from his shoulder. Owen, who had been walking alongside the cart turned around at the tiny whimper that managed to escape. His eyes softened slightly when he saw the tears snaking down Will's face, and he gently patted the boy on the head, attempting to offer some reassurance.

The old General had talked to Will as he drifted in and out of feverish dreams, trying to keep the boy in touch with reality. He had talked of many things, whatever had come to mind. He had talked of how one night he had been drunk and had gotten into a fight with his senior officer, and how he had been kicked out of his battalion.

"I gave years of my life to the service of the kingdom boy and how do they repay me? They throw me out on my ass is how. I had no choice but come to Morgarath, boy, so don't you dare think that I'm just some mindless brute who likes killing for fun. No one would hire me and I needed work. Morgarath might be a brute, but he gave me a job so I have no right to complain. Just try not to antagonize him and whatever happens, be respectful! That's the only bit of advice I can give you. I tell you, I wouldn't trade places with you for all the gold in the world."

Will had tried not to let Owen's words scare him, but it was useless. They drifted in and out of his feverish mind, taunting him with the worst possible outcomes.

He felt when Owen removed his hand from his head, and he sucked in a deep breath as he felt the cart slow to a stop. This was it. Will ignored the pain from his shoulder, and forced his mind to think through the fog that seemed to surround it. He wouldn't have another chance to escape, and injured or not, he wasn't going to simply lie down and let it pass him by.

The cart shook as one of Owen's men jumped into the back with a solid thump, leaned forward and pulled Will up into a sitting position. Will groaned loudly, playing up his injury. Perhaps if he looked ill enough, the men would underestimate him. It wasn't much of an advantage, but he'd take everything he could.

With a metallic _clank _the man unlocked the shackles binding Will's feet to the floor of the wagon. Because of Will's injury, and his supposed weakness, his hands had been left unbound. As the man leant forward to pick Will up, Will made his move.

He jumped up, ignoring the sense of vertigo as he did so, and quickly punched the man in the face, before grabbing the dagger from the man's belt and jumping from the cart. Slightly unsteady on his feet, Will turned back in the direction that he had come from and started to sprint, sacrificing stealth for speed and hoping that the men would be too stunned to immediately pursue him.

Owen started as he heard the sharp, distinctive, _crack _of a nose being broken, followed by the thump of light feet impacting the dusty stone ground of the surrounding courtyard behind him. He turned sharply, and his eyes widened as he caught sight of a small figure shakily running for the trees. For a moment, a brief moment, he contemplated just letting the boy get away, but he knew that if he did Morgarath wouldn't rest until he had both their head's on pikes.

"The boy's escaping! Catch him! Don't let him get away!" Owen allowed himself the smallest feeling of regret as he say his men turn and react to his words, running after the boy, drawing their weapons as they did so. "Don't kill him! Morgarath wants him alive."

Dimly, Will heard the voice as he ran, blood pounding, head and vision spinning out of control, and he knew that he had overestimated his own strength. He felt his legs starting to give out, and heard the men gaining on him, even as the shelter of the trees appeared to move further away.

The world gave a frightening lurch, and Will stumbled, but managed somehow to remain on his feet, not giving up. He couldn't let them catch him, he couldn't! He couldn't stay here, waiting for Morgarath to arrive and torture him simply for being a Ranger. No matter what happened, he wouldn't let that happen!

Suddenly, he felt an arm wrap around his neck from behind, and he gasped for air as he struggled to escape the too tight grasp. Suddenly, with a burst of inspiration that Will thought would have been quicker in coming had he been healthy, Will flipped the knife around until he held it tightly in his fist and then he thrust downwards and backwards, driving the knife deep into the leg of his captor.

Will desperately tried to maintain his grasp on the knife and pull it from the man's leg, but it was too tightly wedged, and he was too weak. The man had released him with a gasp of pain and abandoning his battle with the knife, Will regained his desperate run for the surrounding trees.

There were feet thundering all around him causing his head to ache, and his heart was beating far too fast, and he was _almost there, _when, all of a sudden, a giant weight collided with his back, and he landed forcefully on the ground, screaming at the sudden burst of pain that ripped through his shoulder. One of Owen's men had tackled him, and even as Will tried to push the heavy man off of him he knew that it was pointless. His escape was over, and he had failed. He felt a warm wetness soaking into his shirt from his shoulder, and he knew the wound had re-opened. Perhaps if he was lucky he would die here, his blood leaking all over the ground, and he knew that was preferable to staying alive only to die at the vengeful hands of Morgarath.

The last thing Will saw before losing consciousness was a memory of Halt sitting beside him outside the cabin in the woods, Will's bronze amulet in his hands as he told Will that he would make a great Ranger.

* * *

**A/N**

**Here you go, a new chapter! Aren't you excited? I know I am! I'm nearly at the end of what I have from the origional version, which means that instead of re-writing some boring scenes two different ways (for this version and the normal one), I'll be able to write two whole new chapters, which hopefully means that the two versions of the story will start to diverge more. **

**I am a bit off the Monday update schedule, but this is nearly twice the length of previous chapters, so hopefully that makes up for it a bit. I haven't written any fanfiction as such in quite a while, but I have done a LOT of planning, and I have a bunch of new and exciting stories floating around on my hard drive, just waiting for me to finish my current ones (finally...) and start them. Don't worry though, this story has a whole lot more to go! maybe 20 more chapters? Probably more, I don't really know. XD**

**I should have a oneshot up sometime in the next week or so, it's being beta-ed at the moment, and it's a little depressing Will/Alyss piece, which made me cry as I was writing it. Hopefully you'll all give it a read one I get it up.**

**Thanks to my beta, Alyss Mainwaring, for sticking with me and realising that I was spelling Gilan's name wrong in the un-betaed version. (Gilian, really, what was I thinking! *facepalm*)**

**I love to hear from you, so please review, and look out for more updates soon!**

**Ali Ranger51**

**PS. Did you notice, I've started to name the chapters? I'll go back sometime and name the others, so let me know if you have any ideas for titles for chapters 1-8. I'll make sure to credit you (and thank you with a Will and Halt style mug off coffee) if your idea gets chosen, or a variation of your idea.**


	10. Chapter 10: New Priorities

**Chapter 10**

_Two weeks later_

It was late afternoon when Morgarath, Lord of Night and Rain finally arrived back to his castle hidden deep in the mountains. His horse was nearly dead, and he was exhausted. Shouting angrily for his men to assemble in the throne room, he dismounted and walked slowly towards the main hall. He was nearly ready to drop, but he knew that he could not show weakness in front of his men. They were all criminals, outlaws and murderers, and they would be quick to betray him if they thought that he was at anything less than full strength, especially considering the outcome of the recent battle at the plains.

The throne room within the black castle was a crude imitation of the one in Castle Araluen, and a heavy obsidian throne stood imposingly on a raised dais at the back. As Morgarath positioned himself on the throne, the room seemed to fill with a dark energy and more than one of the men present shifted nervously under the powerful gaze of their Lord.

"General Owen, step forward," Morgarath commanded, and Owen hurried to kneel before the dais. "Report." There was no need for Morgarath to elaborate. Years of service left Owen with no doubt about what he wanted, and where his place was.

"We arrived just over two weeks ago, My Lord. The Ranger boy is in the cells and I have had him kept under guard. It is unlikely that he will try to escape again, and the wound in his shoulder is finally healing." Owen spoke calmly and made sure to keep his gaze trained at Morgarath's feet. The dark lord hated it when his men showed disrespect, and Owen could tell that he was already in a bad mood. He had returned alone and a lot earlier than expected; Owen presumed that the battle had not gone well.

There was a dark flash in Morgarath's eyes and, too late, Owen realized that he had made a potentially deadly mistake. "What do you mean _'escape again'_, General?" Morgarath said, his voice as sharp and cold as ice.

Quickly, Owen summarized Will's escape attempt being careful not to mention the name of the man that had unlocked his shackles. He knew that Morgarath would be out for blood and if Owen revealed the man's name then none of the other men would trust him anymore.

"I am glad that he did not manage to get away, General. Things would have been much worse for you if he had. However, as it is, I find that I must punish you for the fact that he was able to escape at all, however brief his little bout of freedom was." Owen continued to look at the ground and tried not to let Morgarath see that he was shaking. "Guards! Take this man to the post. He is to be given 50 lashes for his disobedience. Let this be an example to all of you, I will not tolerate failure, and anyone slacking in their duties will be severely punished."

As the Lord of Rain and Night watched Owen being dragged away, he did nothing to hide the smile on his face. He knew that he was being overly harsh on the old general, but Morgarath ruled by fear, and in light of his recent defeat he felt that he needed to remind his people exactly why they should obey him.

"Bring me the Ranger." Morgarath thought that it was about time that he became properly acquainted with the young apprentice. They were going to be spending a lot of time together, after all.

* * *

Crowley allowed himself a brief moment of distraction from the reports he was currently reviewing to attempt to clear his troubled thoughts. He knew what was wrong, and it had nothing to do with the papers he was holding, and everything to do with one of his oldest friends.

After Halt had arrived back at the battlefield on the Plains, exhausted and grief stricken, he had asked Crowley for a leave of absence to go to Skandia.

The Ranger Commandant had known how much it would hurt Halt to refuse him, and had seen the resentment written in every line of Halt's body as he had denied his request. He had wanted desperately to allow Halt to go and find Erak and his crew, but he had known that it would be impossible, despite his personal feelings. Duty came first, that was the oath that all Rangers took when they graduated, and Crowley knew that his friend would be needed in Redmount. Two Rangers had been killed in the fighting, and more than a dozen had been wounded; he simply didn't have the men he needed to keep the country in order for long enough to allow Halt to go off to Skandia. Crowley had seen the hurt and betrayal in Halt's eyes as he had refused him but there was nothing he could do.

Crowley just hoped that Halt wouldn't do anything stupid.

* * *

Halt swore loudly and slammed the door of his small cabin with a loud _bang_. He had been spending the last couple weeks hunting down various criminals and outlaws all over Redmount and he was thoroughly sick of it. Dozens of would be bandits had sprung up all over the county to try and take advantage of the chaos left behind by the recent fighting.

As he sat himself down at the small wooden table with a steaming cup of coffee, Halt thought about what to do. Every bandit he chased, every pickpocket or thief he caught, and every day that passed took the Skandians further and further out of his reach. He wanted to go to Skandia and tear the country apart, piece-by-piece, until he avenged Will, but he knew that it wouldn't be possible. He was a Ranger, and they needed him in Araluen. It was his duty.

Unconsciously, Halt fingered the small silver Oakleaf amulet that hung around his neck. It was the sign of the Corps, and every Ranger, active, retired, or apprentice in their second year or above received an amulet, signifying their status. Dimly, Halt remembered giving Will his bronze amulet, the sign of an apprentice. As he pictured the smiling face of his young apprentice, Halt slowly lifted the chain over his head. _It's funny,_ Halt thought, _how such a little thing can mean so much. _

Standing abruptly, Halt made his decision. Gently he let the amulet and its chain fall through his calloused fingers and he watched as it coiled neatly onto the table next to the now empty mug of coffee. Then, without a backwards glance, he grabbed his traveling pack, walked out of the cabin, and went to saddle Abelard and Tug.

* * *

Will was hungry but, despite this, was in a rather good mood. His injured arm, after nearly two weeks of constant pain, had finally gone numb. The shackle was back around his right ankle and it was tight enough to chaff and pull against his sore skin every time he moved. The chain on the shackle was hooked to the wall, with a rather nasty looking lock.

At first, Will, his mind always on escape, had thought that he would be able to chip away at the stone and pull the hook free, lock and all, but he had quickly realized that it was a hopeless plan. He didn't even have anything to chip at the wall with and it was made of some sort of solid dark stone that Will had never seen before that refused all of his efforts to force the heavy metal hook to move.

Even if, by some miracle, he managed to pull the hook free from the wall, he still wouldn't be able to get out of the cell. From the sound of it, there was always a guard outside the door and he was pretty sure that the door was locked. It would be rather stupid if it wasn't.

He wasn't sure how long he had been in the cells for, but he guessed that it was about two weeks, perhaps longer. There was no source of light to tell day from night, but Will thought that he had gotten good at judging the time by listening to the guards. When they were active and loud, Will guessed that it was sometime during the day. If they started to snore, Will supposed that meant that it was night, but he couldn't be too sure; he had caught some of the Redmont dayshift guards sleeping on occasion while he was wandering around the castle.

Suddenly, there was a shuffling sound that Will supposed was the guard standing up, and he tensed as he heard approaching footsteps. Something was about to happen. Unless he was mistaken-and he didn't think he was-it was still too early for someone to be bringing him his next meager meal.

As Will was wondering what was going on, there was a rattling of keys and a scrape of wood on stone as the door was opened. He blinked as light flooded the cell, but before his vision could adjust, a dark blur grabbed him roughly by the shirt and pulled him sharply to his feet. As the man bent down to unclip the chain from the wall, Will noticed that there were three more men standing at the door, cutting off his escape. He had no choice but to do what they wanted.

Once the end of the chain was freed from the wall, the man wrapped it around one fist before grabbing him by the back of his shirt with the other and pulling him out the door. "You're coming with me. Lord Morgarath wants to see you."

Will couldn't suppress the shiver of fear those words triggered. He knew that it was inevitable that Morgarath would show up, but Will had been hoping that the man would have been killed during the battle.

As Will walked, the length of chain that was now held tightly in his guard's hand was being jerked roughly, unbalancing him and sending shockwaves of pain into his right foot. Will was lead through the maze of corridors and doorways until they reached what he presumed must be Morgarath's throne room.

The room held nearly 50 men and women, and none of them looked very friendly. Some even had the same smug grin as the man that had lead him here. Will was marched up to the dais until he was standing directly in front of Morgarath, the man watching him disinterestedly.

He looked directly into the self-titled Lord's cold eyes, refusing to either look down or kneel. It was a small defiance, really, but it was all he could do at the moment and Will couldn't keep a small grin from showing on his face when he heard Morgarath's low growl of rage.

Suddenly, something tugged violently on the chain attached to his ankle and he was sent crashing to the unforgiving stone floor. When he tried to rise, a boot pressed into the small of his back, keeping him on his knees.

"Rise, Ranger," Morgarath said, and Will didn't need to see the man to know that he was smirking. After a moment, the weight was removed from his back, and he rose to his feet, sending an angry glance to the man standing there.

"Apprentice." Will said, turning to again look directly into the eyes of his captor. "I'm an apprentice."

"I am aware of that, boy," Morgarath said arrogantly, smirking. "If you had been a real Ranger, you would have been harder to catch."

Now it was Will's turn to smirk. He knew that he shouldn't be trying to aggravate Morgarath, but he couldn't keep himself from responding. Will always had to try and have the last word.

"I might just be an apprentice, but I still managed to foil your plans just as well as any graduate Ranger, don't you think? I mean, that bridge burnt wonderfully, all that tar and wood…" Will's voice was mocking, even as he knew that he was simply making things worse for himself.

"You're a cocky one, aren't you?" Morgarath said almost absentmindedly, as he picked up a pair of chain mail backed gloves and slowly pulled them on.

The gesture was undoubtedly threating, and meant to scare him. He had grown up hearing horror stories about Morgarath, and his hatred for Rangers. Morgarath was going to do what he wanted to Will until he either managed to escape, or Halt showed up and rescued him. Until then, he was at Morgarath's mercy, and from what he'd heard, the man didn't have much.

"I think that I will rather enjoy teaching you manners, don't you?" Morgarath was smiling again, slowly curling his hands in and out of fists, being very obvious as he did so.

The sight sent a strange thrill through his body, and Will continued to watch the man's face. It was the same feeling that he had when he sunk to his knees in the mud, saxe knife at the ready, his only defense against a raging boar. The mix of adrenaline and fear pounded through his veins, and Will felt his mind go strangely clear. If he was going down, he wasn't going to go without a fight. He looked Morgarath directly in the eyes, before spitting in his face.

Time seemed to still for a moment, as the spit struck Morgarath dead on, the dark lord sitting there in shock, the watchers and guards dead silent, hardly daring to breath.

Suddenly, Morgarath moved. An expression of shock on his face, he slowly wiped the spittle off with the back of his chain main glove, before looking from the glove to Will and back. Suddenly, with an animalistic cry of rage, Morgarath jerked to his feet, lunging towards Will.

Will ducked down, dodging Morgarath's wild fists and ramming his uninjured shoulder into Morgarath. Will's shout of triumph was short lived however, as he felt one gloved hand close around the neck of his shirt, holding him still, and the other collided solidly with his jaw, the sound of metal striking flesh resounding through the large stone room.

The force of the blow snapped his head backwards, and the world shifted violently, the chain mail splitting his lip and spraying blood. Will barely had time to brace himself before he was struck again, this time in the stomach, and he couldn't keep from gasping out in pain. Morgarath shoved him backwards and barked out something unintelligible to someone, and Will felt himself being caught and held by someone.

He caught a brief glimpse of Morgarath's cruel eyes before two sharp blows collided one after the other with his face, before the dark lord switched targets to Will's chest and stomach. Each time the gloves struck, pain rippled through his body, and the young apprentice could feel the cold chain mail opening up cuts and leaving bruises wherever they struck.

Morgarath struck Will again and again, stopping only when he was panting for breath and Will was slumped unconscious in the grasp of his guard, and blood was dripping down his face, his shirt nearly soaked with red.

Slowly, Morgarath turned and surveyed the watching men and women, noticing that Owen was standing and watching, his gaze fixed on the bloody apprentice. He didn't like the look of concern that he saw flicker slightly behind those dark eyes, and he resolved to keep a keen eye on Owen from now on.

He turned back and addressed the man still holding Will up. "Take this piece of filth back to his cell."

Footsteps echoed eerily off the black stone walls as Morgarath, Lord of Night and Rain, strode confidently from the room, stripping off his gloves as he went, shaking flecks of blood onto the dark stone floor.

* * *

"Ranger Halt!"

Halt stepped backwards into the shadows of the stable, his right hand dropping instinctively towards his saxe knife, his left pulling his cowl over his face. There shouldn't be anyone at his cabin, as he had made it clear to Baron Arald that he needed a few days to himself, to 'rest'. There most certainly shouldn't be a young man guiding a gigantic battle horse into the clearing.

Slowly, Halt relaxed as he saw who it was and, stepping out of the shadows, he addressed the young battleschool apprentice. "What do you want?" Halt said gruffly, not bothering to conceal his impatience.

Horace, having just dismounted Kicker, jumped and quickly spun around, his hand going to the hilt of the broadsword that was strapped at the ready around his waist. He had thought that Halt was in the cabin; he definitely hadn't been expecting the Ranger to appear, as if by magic, from the shadows behind him. Although, now that he thought about it, he probably should have.

"I'm coming with you," Horace said. His voice gave no hint of any unease and the young battleschool apprentice glared at Halt, as if daring him to argue.

"Coming with me where, Horace? I'm not going anywhere," Halt stated, calmly.

Horace felt a brief twinge of anger as he looked at the bearded Ranger and saw, clear as day, the two Ranger horses saddled and loaded with travelling gear behind him. "You're going to Skandia after those pirates that killed Will, and I'm coming with you. He was my best friend." The last part was spoken so softly that Halt almost didn't hear it.

Halt studied the young man standing in front of him and silently pondered what to do. The boy was determined, he had proven that just by turning up, and he was brave as well. He was also a natural with a sword and Halt figured that it would come in handy having Horace around in a fight. Nodding to himself, Halt made his decision. "I take it that you are all packed and ready to go?"

"Yes, sir," Horace nodded, barely believing what he was hearing. He had never thought that Halt would actually take him!

"Then mount up, and let's go." Not waiting to see if Horace was following, Halt swung up into Abelard's saddle and left the clearing at a trot. He smiled grimly to himself as he heard the young apprentice scramble to mount his massive battlehorse, Kicker, and follow him.

* * *

**A/N**

**Here you go, another chapter! Sorry it's a bit late, I was busy and discovered a MAJOR plot hole in my planning of this story. Trust me, you'll be glad I fixed it. My previous planning had Tug in two places at once, characters being in places they had absolutely no business being, made up and totally not suitable motives, and I basically wrote Will into a place I couldn't get him out of. To fix it, I had to basically make up an entirely new enemy, pull motives out of possible twists from the book, kidnap a few characters, and force Will to make a few hard choices that he really didn't want to make (he's a stubborn one, that Will!). lol. **

**Wasn't that a huge amount I told you about the story that actually said nothing at all! XD hehehehehe. I feel so mean. Every word I wrote above is true, and huge parts of the story to come, but you'll never be able to figure out what I mean by it until I post the necessary chapters. Feel free to try though. I'd love to hear what you come up with!**

**Thanks heaps to my beta Alyss Mainwaring!**

**Ali**


	11. Chapter 11: Branding

**Chapter 11: Branding **

Will groaned as he regained consciousness, lying face down on a cold stone floor. Every part of him ached and he trembled as he remembered the way that Morgarath had attacked him. Slowly he tried to open his eyes and he panicked when all he could see was darkness. Frantically, running his hands along the ground beside him, staring into the impenetrable gloom, Will slowly realized that he must be back in his cell.

He groaned loudly, not caring that the guard outside his cell could probably hear him, and would most likely torment him for it later. The guards absolutely loathed him and used every moment they possibly could to make his time in Morgarath's dungeon a living Hell.

Very cautiously, Will sat up, trying to move as little as possible so that he didn't hit his new bruises. He was feeling very tender, his head thumped with what was possibly the worst headache he had ever had, and to make matters worse, the wound in his shoulder was throbbing. He hoped that Morgarath's beating hadn't done any more damage to it, but Will wasn't too optimistic considering the way things have turned out for him so far. Propping his back up against the cold stone walls, Will licked his lips in a pitiful attempt to get rid of the dry, swollen feeling in his mouth. There was no point wasting energy searching the cell for food or water, he knew that he wouldn't have been left any.

As Will moved against the wall, attempting to find the position that hurt the least, he felt his elbow connect with something hard and made of metal and he gasped loudly, clutching at the aching bone. Cautiously, he inspected the wall more closely, and he discovered he that he had hit the palm sized metal ring that was fixing him to his prison. Will swore loudly, ignoring the Halt-like voice in his head that berated him for his foul language.

He tried to ignore the growing feeling of helplessness, but it was impossible; Morgarath could do anything that he wanted to him, and there would be no way that Will could stop him. Every part of him hurt from the earlier beating, and he was physically exhausted. He had been given very little food, and although there was very little to do in the small cell except for sleep, Will hadn't been able to rest. He was plagued by nightmares every time he closed his eyes.

Taking a deep breath, Will tried to think past the fog in his head to find a way out of his current predicament. He asked himself over and over again, what would Halt do? But there was no way that he could see to escape, no matter what angle he looked at it. He was chained to a wall, barely able to move, in the dungeons of the most feared man in Araluen. Will held his head in his hands, feeling useless and wishing that there was something, anything, that he could do.

At the same time, Will wondered what had happened to Evanlyn and Horace. Had they made it back to the plains? Were they even still alive? Did they know what had happened to him? Surely if Halt knew that he was here, he would be on his way, wouldn't he? Unless he had been injured. Will tried to push that horrifying thought away, but in the darkness of the cell, he found that he couldn't. It was all too easy for the fear to take over, to cloud his thoughts. He abandoned his position propped up against the wall in favour of curling up on the floor, trembling, with his knees hugged tightly against his chest. He was oblivious to the sound of footsteps getting closer and closer to his cell.

The loud click of a lock caused Will to look up, startled out of his depression by the unmistakable sound, and he visibly winced as the light from a torch aggravated his headache. Closing his eyes tightly and cursing Morgarath under his breath, Will decided with newfound determination that he would set something on fire the first chance he got.

As Will had literally sent Morgarath's plans at the bridge up in smoke, he knew instinctively that if he was able to set something else on fire it would vex Morgarath more than anything else he could possibly do. While provoking his captor might not be one of his smartest ideas, Will couldn't help but feel that chaos was exactly what this morbid black castle needed. The throbbing in his head seemed to agree.

It was good to finally have decided upon a course of action and even though it might not be an escape plan, it was still enough to keep him focused and determined. After all, if a chance to escape did appear he needed to be able to recognize it.

There was a group of five men standing in the doorway and Will had no doubt about why they were here; they were going to take him back to Morgarath. As he pictured Morgarath and his gloves, his entire body began to shake, and he felt his newfound resolve crumbling. He didn't bother to stand as three of the men pushed their way into the cell; he doubted that he could stand without support anyway. He was shaking too badly.

One of the men quickly unlocked the chain around his ankle while the other two pulled him roughly to his feet. Something strange was happening. Last time they had just unhooked the chain from the ring and used the chain to pull him along. This time they had removed the chain and shackles altogether. Will didn't have any more time to wonder about what this change in routine could mean however, as one of the men pulled him out of the cell and marched him along the maze of dark corridors. They weren't going up to the throne room, he could tell that much, and he tried to memorize the pattern of turns in case he got an opportunity to escape. He wasn't able to remember more than a couple corridors though, as Morgarath's castle was huge and built like a labyrinth.

Eventually, they stopped in front of a door the colour of blood and despite never having seen it before, Will shivered instinctively.

One of his guards knocked heavily on the door and without waiting for a reply, pushed it open and gestured to the men holding Will to drag him in. The room inside was surprisingly small and round, but there were four more blood red doors, closed, adorning the walls. Morgarath was standing in the middle of the room, grinning sadistically. Will knew that whatever was about to happen to him was going to be very bad. It had to be, to put Morgarath into such an obviously good mood.

Standing at Morgarath's right side was a man he had never seen before, and he had a nearly tangible aura of fear and death surrounding him. He was dressed in dark, nearly black, leather, and covered in scars. There was a large variety of knives and tools hanging from his belt and more strapped to various other parts of his body. All of the sheaths, including the belt, were the same blood red colour as the surrounding doors. The entire right side of his face was adorned in grotesque red tattoos in the shape of what Will realized were drops of blood.

"What's your name, boy?" Morgarath's voice was merciless, taunting, and Will studied the man properly for the first time since he had entered the room. He was grinning from ear to ear, and once more wearing the chain-mail backed gloves.

"I'm Will." There was no point in lying. It couldn't do him any harm to tell Morgarath that. Resisting however, Will thought, glancing at the leather-clad man, would probably hurt. It wasn't as if he had a family that his name could put in danger, and Will found that for the first time in his life, he was glad he had no family. A brief image of Halt flashed before his eyes, and Will desperately pushed it away.

He might never have seen rooms like these before, but Will was smart enough to recognize a torture chamber when he was dragged into one. The young apprentice tried to still his shaking limbs and brace himself for what was surely coming.

Morgarath was going to have him tortured; it didn't matter that he didn't have any valuable information; he was a Ranger, even if only an apprentice, and Morgarath would torture him just out of spite and hate. Unless something miraculous happened, unless he either escaped or was rescued, Will knew he was going to die here. The thought didn't terrify him nearly as much as he thought it would; it just made him angry. Will took a steadying breath and forced body to relax, to be ready to move. If he had to die in this bloody castle, he was damn sure that he wasn't going to go without a fight.

* * *

Morgarath felt pleasure burn through him as he drank in Will's obvious fear. Then, unexpectedly, the fear seemed to vanish, and the boy looked up, fists clenched in defiance. He stood frozen in shock as the boy threw himself at him, and tackled him to the ground. Morgarath grabbed for the dagger in his belt, but the boy was faster. The blade glinted threateningly as Will raised it, two handed, above his head to deliver a deathblow.

Before he could drive the blade downwards, he was grabbed from behind by the torturer, Nathaniel. The man gripped him by the hair and effortlessly pulled him up off the ground. Morgarath got to his feet quickly and ripped the dagger out of Will's hands. Stowing the dagger, he brushed off his clothes calmly, as if nothing had ever happened and watched the heavily muscled man bodily throw the young apprentice across the room. The boy would soon learn the folly of defiance.

* * *

Will let out a gasp of pain as he felt his shoulder impact the stone wall but he ignored the pain and clambered to his feet. He had been so close! He had had the knife in his hands and Morgarath had been beneath him, helpless! Now, the moment was gone and it was doubtful that he would ever get such a chance again, but that didn't mean that he would just give up! If he had gotten a lucky shot in once, what was to say it wouldn't happen again? He just had to keep trying.

He stood up straighter, readying himself for another try, but the large tattooed man caught him before he could even move a step, as if he knew what Will was thinking.

It took the man almost no effort at all to subdue the struggling apprentice, simply putting a meaty hand around his throat and squeezing until the young boy lost consciousness. He held Will upright and looked at Morgarath for orders on where he should take him. He might not personally like the egotistical man very much, but he had served him for nearly 15 years, ever since Morgarath's defeat at Hackham Heath. As long as the man continued to provide him with victims, he'd serve willingly. So far, this new boy looked to be the perfect subject.

"Bring him here, Nathaniel, it's time we teach him a lesson. It appears that he is long overdue for it." Morgarath was standing before the leftmost door and he pulled it open with a squeal of the rusted hinges. He smiled as he stepped aside to allow Nathaniel, who was carrying the unconscious Will, to enter ahead of him.

* * *

Crowley trotted his horse, Cropper, towards the small cabin that resided in the trees. He had spent the past couple of weeks roaming the country, trying to regain order and helping to track down various criminals in various fiefs. He was currently in Redmount and on his way to see Halt. He felt guilty about not allowing his old friend to go and chase down the bastards that had killed his apprentice but deep down he knew that refusing Halt's request was the only reasonable thing he could do. Halt was needed here, in Araluen. He just hoped that Halt was able to understand that too.

As Halt's small cottage came into view, Crowley's well-honed instincts flared. Something was wrong and it didn't take much thought for Crowley to recognize what was missing. There was no whinny of greeting from Abelard, Halt's horse, and no smoke emerging from the chimney. Both could undoubtedly only mean one thing; Halt wasn't at the cabin.

He had just been to see Arald and the Baron had told him that Halt was home, having just gotten back the day before from chasing down one of the more notorious criminals that had made their way to Redmount. So if Halt wasn't here, where was he?

Frowning, Crowley dismounted and looked warily around the small clearing, trying to spot anything out of the ordinary. When his keen eyes were unable to spot anything to be worried about, he stepped onto the porch and pushed open the cabin door, saxe in hand.

Nothing attacked him as he pushed open the door, but instead of putting his worries to rest, this just agitated him even more. Everything felt too peaceful. Despite himself, Crowley found himself hoping that the inside of the cabin showed signs of a fight that meant Halt hadn't left voluntarily. Halt couldn't have just walked out. He wouldn't have.

_Would he?_

As his eyes rested on the empty coffee cup on the table, his eyes narrowed, becoming dangerously thin. Halt never left dirty dishes lying around. Instinctively, he knew that he wasn't going to like what he saw next. He was right. He didn't.

Halt's small silver Oakleaf amulet was sitting on the table next to the coffee cup, and Crowley drove the tip of his knife into the table with a thud, swearing as he did so. He had. Halt had left, gone to chase Skandians.

Even as he gathered the small amulet up into his hands, Crowley tried to ignore the part of him that said that he really shouldn't be surprised. Ever since Crowley had first seen Halt with Will together he had known that they shared more than just the normal bond between master and apprentice. He hadn't recognized what the bond was at the time, but as he sat now in an abandoned cabin in the woods, he couldn't believe that he had missed it.

The panic and desperation that he had seen in Halt when Will was missing, the sheer depth of the despair that Halt had shown when Will had been killed, and the sense of misery surrounding Halt when he had returned, exhausted and bleeding, to the plains of Uthal suddenly made a whole lot more sense. He didn't know why or how it had come about, but Halt saw Will as his son, and as he remembered the blind trust and love in Will's face every time he saw the boy looking at Halt, he knew that the orphan thought of Halt as a father.

He didn't know much about Halt's life before he came to Araluen, but he did know that there wasn't anyone that the grim man called family. To finally find someone that he could feel that with, and to then have that ripped away from him in such a sudden and violent manner must have been heart breaking. Crowley felt a fleeting moment of pity for the Skandians that had killed the apprentice, because Halt surely wasn't going to rest until all of them were dead, but then the smiling visage of Will rose before his eyes and the pity was gone. Those bastards deserved every bit of pain Halt was sure to inflict onto them before he killed them.

Clenching the silver Oakleaf tightly in his hand, Crowley rose and left the cabin, slamming the door loudly as he did so.

* * *

He was hot. Slowly, Will regained consciousness and found himself strapped securely to a heavy metal table. Frantically, he tried to pull one of his hands out of the leather restraints, but he found that he was so tightly secured that he couldn't even move his arm an inch.

He was exhausted from his recent attack on Morgarath and the other man, Nathaniel. To make things worse, the heat of the room and being thrown around and forced into unconsciousness by the large man had caused his headache to return, stronger than ever.

Looking around the room, Will quickly discovered the source of the heat. A large furnace that took up nearly an entire wall of the small room, surrounded by buckets of coal and water. He focused on the weird shaped metal rods lining a second wall, before gasping silently as he realised what the instruments were. They were branding irons of many different sizes, shapes and designs.

As he watched, Morgarath pulled a rather intimidating brand from the wall and placed it into the red-hot coals. As he redoubled his efforts to escape from the table, Will realized that Nathaniel was laughing, the sound echoing around the small room. It was the first time that he had heard the man make a sound and it was chilling. He wished that he could block it out but he couldn't move to get away from it; He couldn't do anything. The straps were too tight and they were digging into his arms, legs, torso and neck, holding him motionless.

After what seemed like an eternity, but wasn't nearly long enough in Will's opinion, the tattooed man pulled the brand from the glowing coals and inspected the glowing tip to make sure that it was ready. He then carefully handed it to Morgarath and pulled out a rather sharp looking knife from a sheath on his thigh, before cutting off Will's shirt in a single slash from the neck down. The motion was careless and the knife left a bloody trail behind as it sliced his skin just as easily as his shirt.

It was only when Nathaniel stepped away and sheathed the knife that Morgarath spoke. "Hold still now, Will. This is going to hurt quite a lot, but I'm afraid that it's rather necessary. You see, the brand marks you as my slave, my possession, and more importantly, my pet."

Will saw Morgarath's lips move and knew that he was speaking but he couldn't make out the words; he was too focused on the red-hot brand that was getting closer and closer to the skin above his heart. He gave a bloodcurdling scream as Morgarath pressed the glowing metal into his skin and he could _smell_ the skin burning. He couldn't escape the pain, it was all consuming and unquestionably the worst thing he had ever felt.

There was a horrible sizzling sound as Morgarath threw the brand into a bucket of water and, grinning, he let Nathaniel inspect the brand. It was directly over Will's heart and the size of a large fist. Sometimes if a brand wasn't applied properly or the victim wasn't properly secured, the brand moved half way through the process and you ended up with a smudged lump of burned flesh or what was referred to as the 'shadow effect' where there was two brands in roughly the same spot with one looking like a 'shadow' of the other.

This brand was well formed, and Nathaniel could distinctly make out the single blackbird above two crossed swords that was Morgarath's personal crest. He turned away from the sobbing boy on the table and nodded at Morgarath, letting him know that the brand was good.

"Shall we do anything more tonight?" The man spoke calmly, as if he was discussing his evening meal, but there was pleasure in his eyes and a slight upturn of his lips that could have been a smile. Nathaniel was in his element and he enjoyed what he did. He enjoyed it a lot. He hoped Morgarath would allow him to continue.

The Lord of rain and Night studied the boy on the table before he spoke. "No. We have as much time as we could possibly wish. There is no need to rush. Just collar him now and leave him overnight. Make sure you ensure he's fed. It would be a pity to have him die before we even got started, especially from something as preventable as hunger." Morgarath didn't wait for the Maser Torturer to reply before he walked out the blood red door, whistling.

* * *

_**A/N**_

_**Oops, I had this sitting in my inbox from my beta for ages and completely forgot about it. Here you go!**_

_**Ali Ranger51**_


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